


But, Oh, Oh, Those Summer Nights

by SirLancelotTheBrave



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Cotton Candy Fluff, F/F, F/M, Gen, July - Freeform, M/M, Maybe some angst, Multi, Occassional smut, Summer, au prompts, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 35,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4249446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLancelotTheBrave/pseuds/SirLancelotTheBrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts under 1-1.5k word prompts for July, loosely based around summer and summery activities. Also a smattering of paranormal prompts because why not? Mostly pairings and OT3. Tags and triggers will given at the beginning of each chapter.</p><p>ComeHitherAshes's posts are as much of a surprise to me as they are to all of you: we don't discuss them beforehand (and if we do, we've forgotten by the time we red them and the cuteness hits us all over again). Any similarities are a happy coincidence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ComeHitherAshes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 - I swear to God I’m not a burglar AU
> 
> Tags: OT3, established Portamis, breaking and entering (sort of)

A banging from the kitchen woke Athos from a deep sleep. He lay still for a moment, wondering if his was mind playing tricks. Then it came again.

Athos sighed, rolling silently out of bed. This was what he got for living in this part of town. Everyone had warned him. He stalked over to his door, grabbing the shiny new baseball bat out of the corner as he went. He'd been confused when Thomas presented him with it, since he detested sports, but his brother had laughed and said he might need it "out there in the wild." He was glad to have it now.

Another bang came from the kitchen as he reached for the doorknob. Athos froze, wondering if it would be better to call the police. The thought of cowering in the dark made his lip curl in disgust. Without any further hesitation, he slipped into the hallway.

The floor creaked down the hall and he froze. He couldn't see in the darkness, but there was definitely someone walking around in the kitchen ahead. He could hear their footsteps. A fainter noise came from further down, near his living room, but he ignored it in favor of the more immediate threat. Athos slunk closer until he reached the edge of the narrow archway that led to his tiny kitchen. The bulb above the sink was on, throwing a shadow across the floor before him. A large shadow.

Athos tightened his grip on the bat. He wasn't going to run back to his bedroom now. It was now or never.

What happened next was a bit of a blur. He spun around the corner with his bat raised and found himself staring directly into the eyes of the man in his kitchen, who looked just as shocked as he was. Athos attempted to knock the man's head from his shoulders with the bat, at which point the man grabbed it and pulled it from his hands with astonishing strength. The bat clattered to the ground beside the spilled bowl of Cheerios the giant had apparently been eating. Athos was about to make a dive for it when the intruder put his hands up.

"Whoa, whoa, I'm not a burglar, I swear!"

Athos hesitated. "Who the hell are you then?"

"Who am I? Who are you? What are you doin' at Charon's place?"

"Charon? This is my place!" Athos said angrily. "And that was my bowl you broke!"

"What? No, if this is your place, then why's my key work?" the man asked, waving a key at Athos.

Athos blinked at it, stomach sinking. "Ah, I may not have changed the locks," he admitted sheepishly.

"Are you mad? You moved to this part of town and didn't change the locks?" The man was practically shouting at him now.

"Excuse me, I don't think you have the right to lecture me in my own damn apartment," Athos snarled back.

"What's going on?" a tired voice asked. Athos whirled around to find another man standing in the archway behind him, looking as if he'd been sleeping. Athos abruptly found his anger draining away. The newcomer was startlingly attractive.

"Porthos, who's this?"

The man named Porthos looked torn between embarrassment and anger. "Babe, we got the wrong apartment."

That seemed to wake the other man up. "But this is 12B, isn't it?" he asked, looking at Athos.

"Looks like Charon's moved out. Didn't tell us, the bastard," Porthos growled.

"Did you stay with him often?" Athos asked. He wasn't sure why he was bothering to make conversation with his home intruders. It might have something to do with how incredibly good-looking the smaller one was. Porthos was impressive too, now that Athos wasn't trying to bash his head in.

Perhaps Thomas was right. He'd been alone too long.

"Just on nights when it was too late to walk home from the club where we work," Porthos told him. "Listen, I'm sorry about this. I'm Porthos, this is Aramis, and I swear we thought this place was still Charon's. We ain't burglars."

Athos sighed, eying the mess on his floor. "I'm Athos, and it's fine. You're right, I should have had the locks changed."

Porthos followed his gaze and grimaced. "Sorry 'bout the bowl. I'll clean it up." He bent down and began scooping up the smashed pieces of the bowl.

As Porthos worked, Aramis wandered over to sit at the breakfast counter, still blinking sleepily. He laughed when Porthos passed Athos the baseball bat.

"You were well prepared," he said.

Athos didn't reply. He was too busy staring. He only looked away when Aramis noticed him and winked.

"That's the best I can do without a mop," Porthos said at last, straightening up. "We should probably go, we've disturbed you enough for one night."

"Would you like to call a cab?" Athos offered, feeling oddly responsible for the two strangers. They both looked exhausted.

"Nah, there won't be any this time of night. We can walk." He nodded at Aramis, who sighed heavily before slipping off his chair.

Athos trailed them to the hallway. When Porthos reached for the doorknob, he finally spoke. "Listen, why don't you just sleep here?"

"What?" they asked in unison.

"Well, you were going to sleep here anyway, and I'm going to make you walk home at," Athos glanced at the clock, "three in the morning."

"You sure?" Porthos asked uncertainly. Aramis had no such qualms. He'd already disappeared back into the living room, bumping Athos's shoulder in thanks as he went.

"Yeah," Athos said, surprised at how certain he felt. "It'll be fine."

Porthos grinned at him. "Thanks."

"I'll let you get some sleep," Athos murmured, backing away toward his bedroom. Porthos gave him a little salute as he disappeared after Aramis.

Athos dropped down on his bed. To his amazement, he was smiling. He wondered if he could get Aramis and Porthos to stay for breakfast. There was a lovely bakery on the corner…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 - Best friends who finally hook up/have a one night stand
> 
> So this is more like the morning after, but it was cuter this way
> 
> Tags: Constagnan, tooth-rotting fluff

D'Artagnan couldn't remember ever being more comfortable. The morning air was cool, so he nestled deeper into the sheets on the bed. He had never realized how soft they were.

With a happy sigh he rolled over, reaching out to pull the extra pillow to his chest. He froze when his hand brushed skin.

Someone was in his bed.

He blinked open his eyes, looking wildly around. No, he was in someone else's bed.

His gaze roamed over the room, finally settling on a large poster of Black Widow on the wall. He'd had a poster just like that made custom for…

D'Artagnan whipped his head around, jaw dropping when he saw Constance sleeping beside him. The sheet was tugged down far enough for him to see she wasn't wearing anything. Now that he thought about it, neither was he.

It wasn't meant to go like this. He was supposed to gradually win her over until he professed his love at last in some sort of grand, romantic way. They weren't supposed to fall into bed after a night at a club. None of the imagined scenarios had gone like this.

He was going to need a new plan.

As slowly as he could he rolled out of bed. He got tangled in the sheets and nearly fell face first onto the floor, but he caught himself on the dresser before disaster struck. He made his way across the room, being careful to avoid the many squeaky floorboards. It was lucky he knew where they all were.

D'Artagnan made it out into the hallway at last. He closed the bedroom door behind him and leaned against the wall, sighing heavily. He had no idea what to do now. A small, weak part of his mind was insisting he should just run away, but he ignored it. He'd blow any chance he had with Constance if he just disappeared.

He sighed again. He was going to have to do something he hated. He was going to have to think like Aramis.

 _What would Aramis do?_ he wondered. His brain promptly suggested _have sex again_. D'Artagnan tried not to growl. Scratch that, then. What would Porthos do?

This time, the suggestion was much more reasonable. He should clean up the mess they'd left in the front hallway when they got here last night. He was pretty sure he'd knocked over the shoe rack, and Constance had left her purse and keys scattered across the floor. It was as good a place as any to start, and it would show he was thoughtful. It was perfect.

The front hallway was indeed a mess. D'Artagnan felt a bit weird about putting things back in Constance's purse, but he didn't want her to wake up to a mess, so he took care of it as quickly as he could. The shoe stand was slightly crooked, but he shoved the shoes back on it and hoped she wouldn't notice.

That done, he crept back to the bedroom to check if she'd woken up, but she was still sound asleep. She looked unbelievably beautiful. It took a great deal of effort to close the door again and not watch her like a stalker until she woke up. It was hard enough to not get caught up in the memories of last night. But if he did that, he was going to need a cold shower.

 _What else would Porthos do?_ he asked himself, wandering into the kitchen. His eyes fell on the large frying pan on the stove and he grinned. _Make breakfast._

He dug all the ingredients out for a spinach and cheese omelette and was halfway through making it when the floor creaked behind him. He whirled around so quickly he nearly lost his grip on the spatula.

Constance was standing in the doorway, auburn hair still messy from sleep. She was wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. His mouth went dry when he realized it was his t-shirt.

"Morning," he managed to stammer. "Sleep well?"

"Excellently," Constance said, flashing him a smile as she dropped into a chair at the table. "Is that an omelette?"

"Yes," he said quickly, turning back to the stove. He could feel the back of his neck going red. He tried to focus on the food, but his mind was going crazy wondering what she was thinking. Were they together now? Or was last night just a one-time thing? Was she upset they'd slept together? He couldn't actually remember whose idea it had been.

They sat in silence until the omelette was ready. He slid it onto a plate and nervously put it in front of Constance. She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Did I mess it up?" he asked.

She looked pointedly down at the omelette, which covered her entire plate. "Were you going to eat some of this?"

"Oh. Right," he said, flushing. He pulled another plate out and cut the omelette in half, dragging half to his plate.

Constance laughed. "Relax, D'Artagnan. You'd think you'd never eaten breakfast here before."

"Yeah, but that was different," he mumbled without thinking.

'Why should it be different?" Constance asked. "Why do things have to change?"

D'Artagnan drooped. So she wasn't interested in a relationship after all.

"I mean, I don't want things to change too much," Constance went on. "We can still be best friends even if we're dating."

"We're dating?" D'Artagnan asked, his voice embarrassingly high with excitement.

"Of course," Constance said, smirking. "What do you think I seduced you for?"

" _You_ seduced _me_?"

"Well I couldn't keep waiting around for you to do it!"

D'Artagnan stared at her. And then he started to laugh. "How long have you been waiting?" he asked at last.

"Since about a month after we met," Constance confessed.

"I had a plan, you know," he told her.

"Oh? I'm sorry for messing it up then," she teased.

D'Artagnan grinned. "It's alright. I like this better anyway."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - Co-captains who always argue au
> 
> For some reason my brain went to 'captains of a sports team' rather than the more exciting 'captains of a ship,' but it still came out cute
> 
> Tags: Treville/Richelieu, snarky arguments

Treville clapped a hand on the back of their newest player, who was looking glum. "Cheer up," he told the kid. "We can't win them all. But we played a damn good game."

The kid (Darcy, or something like that) didn't look convinced. "They stomped us, Captain," he said, glaring at the field. "We didn't score a single goal."

"But we made them fight for every one they got," Treville growled, trying to sound convincing. "If that goalie wasn't so damn tall, that left shot of yours would've sailed right in."

To his relief, the kid was starting to look slightly more cheerful. Treville hated seeing his team in low spirits. Without their three best players, they had taken a beating, but Treville didn't want their confidence shaken.

He clapped the boy on the back again and turned to see where the rest of the team was gathering. He wanted to give them some words of encouragement. Unfortunately, his co-captain had gotten there first.

"I'm not going to lie: we played like shit, boys and girls," he was saying, ignoring the way Treville was trying to burn holes in his shirt with his glare. Treville always had to resist the urge to scoff when he saw it. The fact that Richelieu had paid to get his last name on the back of his shirt when the rest of the team wore plain jerseys was the height of snobbery.

"We played a damn good game," Treville broke in, refusing to let Richelieu's 'tough love' coaching style bring the team's spirit down. Sometimes his 'advice' sounded more like insults.

Richelieu's eyes narrowed as Treville shouldered his way into the huddle. "We did not, Treville. There's no need to coddle them. They're big boys."

Several dark glares were turned on Richelieu. "And girls, sorry, sorry," he corrected, waving a hand at Constance and Flea, who were lounging beside the new boy.

"I'm not coddling them," Treville growled. "The other team had a lot of good players, but we put up a fight and made them work hard for that win."

"They walked all over us!" Richelieu snapped. "That big striker of theirs bowled through the defenders like they were standing still. Our offense was useless and our midfielders were all in the wrong places!"

"Now you're just being overly critical," Treville huffed.

"Overly critical? I'm not being nearly critical enough! We need to hold some emergency practices and get everyone up to par, or we will be trampled in every game for the rest of the season!" Richelieu hissed.

"For god's sake, stop being so dramatic," Treville growled. "We can't have emergency practices."

"Why not?"

"They have class!"

"They can finish their homework after practice," Richelieu said dismissively. "We're out our three best players. We can't afford to get sloppy. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis won't be back from studying abroad until next semester. If they come back and find the team's in last place, they'll never play for us again!"

"Stop being so pessimistic!" Treville snapped. "The boys will be back next fall, and if they play, they play. If they don't, we'll get by without them. But you can't just haul the team out every day away from their studies just because you hate to lose."

"At least I have some competitive spirit!" Richelieu snapped back. "If we did it your way, half of them would be napping on the field! And the other half would be making fucking friendship bracelets!"

"At least they would be having a good time! You work them too hard. Half of them have had panic attacks already because you made them think they weren't good enough!"

"They aren't good enough!" Richelieu said, anger making his voice go higher than normal. "They'll never make it big with shitty skills like that!"

Treville groaned. "They don't _want_ to make it big," he cried. "For god's sake, Armand, this is an _intramural league_."

They both fell silent, glaring at one another. They stayed like that for a few long moments. Then Treville glanced around. Despite himself, he started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Richelieu asked crossly.

"We've scared them away again," Treville told him, gesturing to the now empty field.

"What? But we weren't dine scheduling next week's practices," Richelieu said, looking baffled by their abandonment. "Why do they always do this?"

"I think they don't want to be witnesses to murder," Treville said wryly.

Richelieu blinked at him. "Then they're even more foolish than I first thought," he said waspishly. "Surely they know we don't really hate each other."

"Maybe we're overdoing it on the arguing," Treville sighed.

"We need to motivate them somehow," Richelieu argued. "Good cop, bad cop has always worked before."

"You didn't see the new kid's face last night," Treville told him, shaking his head. "He thought he'd come to the field today and find only one of us had survived!"

"His name is D'Artagnan, and Constance will convince him we're not mortal enemies," Richelieu snapped. "Really, Jean, you should know the names of everyone on the team."

"It'd be easier to remember them all if they weren't so weird." Treville often wondered how Richelieu kept all the names straight.

Richelieu rolled his eyes. "At least stop mixing up Fleur and Flea. They hate that."

"Should we head home then?" Treville asked, grabbing his bag from the grass. "We'll have to send an email about practice next week."

"I'll send it. Your grammar is atrocious. How can someone with such an excellent education use twelve commas a sentence?" Richelieu asked.

Treville chuckled. "What's the point in learning when you'll do it for me?" he asked. "Anyway, are we still on for dinner tomorrow night? The French place?"

"Only if you promise to wear a tie," Richelieu said coolly, giving Treville a peck on the cheek before striding away toward his dorm.

Treville eyed the letters on the back of his jersey. Damn, it was starting to grow on him. He'd better get one too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 - Fourth of July!
> 
> I've got a different prompt than the list today because it's a holiday! It might be raining on my family cookout, but at least the prompt is fun :)
> 
> Tags: established OT3, implied Constagnan and Fleanon

"That was my spot, asshole!" Porthos shouted at the driver of the tiny blue Prius, which had just stolen his parking space.

"Relax, _mon cher_ , we'll find another," Aramis murmured soothingly.

Porthos glared out the windshield. "We've been looking for half an hour already. There's nowhere left to park!"

"Why don't we park there?" Athos said calmly, pointing at a yard coming up on their left.

Porthos glanced at the house and back at Athos, incredulous. The house was the size of a mansion. He'd never set foot in a house like that. "That's someone's yard, babe. We can't just park there. That's trespassing. We'll be shot."

"Nonsense," Athos said. "Ninon would never have me shot."

"You didn't tell us Ninon lived near this park," Aramis said rather accusingly as Porthos pulled into the yard, wincing when the wheels left deep tracks in the grass.

"Technically, it's her parents' home. I believe they're in France at the moment. And Ninon is already in the park, watching the fireworks with Flea."

That Porthos knew about. He'd never seen Flea as happy as she was with Ninon. She was so charming she'd give even Aramis a run for his money.

"If her parents track me down and charge me with destruction of property, you're paying the fine," he told Athos, eying the tracks in the grass nervously.

"Perhaps I should duel her father in your honor instead," Athos said, so seriously that Porthos turned around in his seat to make sure he was just joking.

"As much as I would like to see that, we're going to miss the fireworks if we don't get going!" Aramis said impatiently. He'd already clambered out of the car.

"I don't see why we couldn't have stayed at home and made s'mores," Porthos said mutinously as he slid out of the car. "Pup and Constance had the right idea."

"You know full well why they didn't come, and it had nothing to do with s'mores," Athos said, raising an eyebrow. Aramis burst out laughing.

"Yeah, well, we coulda stayed home and done that too," Porthos muttered, glaring. Athos was meant to be on his side. It was silly to drive in bumper to bumper traffic just to get to a park packed with people and watch some colorful explosions when you could see them on TV instead. He really didn't get the point of fireworks.

"Come on, they're going to start soon!" Aramis cried, bounding over. He grabbed them both by the hand and dragged them off in the direction of the park. When the crowd ahead remained as thick as ever, he nudged Porthos to the front instead. Porthos sighed, but he had long ago accepted his role as the human battering ram in this relationship, so he simply shoved his way through the crowd, dragging his boyfriends behind him.

They finally made it through the parks gates. Aramis promptly took over, dragging them toward the middle of the large field. Everywhere Porthos looked was covered in blankets and people getting ready to watch the fireworks. There were so many of them it was making him feel claustrophobic. He felt an odd animosity towards all of them. Maybe this was what it felt like to be Athos.

At last Aramis chose a spot. There was a bit of shoving with the people around them as they spread out their blanket, but eventually they had staked out a small patch of grass for themselves. There were still ten minutes before the fireworks were scheduled to start. Aramis lay back on the blankets and fluttered his eyelashes at Athos until he joined him, but Porthos stayed sitting, watching the crowd around them. Flea had said she'd keep an eye out for them.

Less than a minute before the fireworks were to start, Ninon and Flea came charging through the crowd and collapsed together on the corner of their blanket. Ninon immediately struck up a conversation with Athos and Aramis as if she hadn't nearly brained an old lady during her mad dash to reach them. Flea plopped down beside Porthos.

"You look like someone ate all the strawberry shortcake and didn't leave you any," she teased. "What's wrong?"

"I just don't see the point in fireworks," Porthos muttered.

"Giant, fiery explosions put on for show? Sounds like it should be right up your alley."

"Unless they're turning into giant dragons, Gandalf-style, then they're not very impressive. And it's too crowded," he complained. "It'll be hell getting home in the traffic after this."

Flea rolled her eyes, but before she could say more, Ninon was pulling her away, saying, "Quick, it's about to start. Come sit with me."

Porthos glanced around, but a sharp tug on the neck of his shirt had him collapsing clumsily backwards onto the blanket between Aramis and Athos. He'd just turned his head to glare when the first rocket went off.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd, but he didn't even look up. All his attention was focused on Aramis, who was staring at the sky in wonderment. He looked like a little kid again, utterly fascinated by the spectacle.

Curious, Porthos turned to glance at Athos on his other side, and found a similar expression on his face. The dancing red light of the rockets above them made Athos look softer somehow, and there was something like a smile playing about his lips. He looked ten years younger.

Porthos took back everything he said. If fireworks could make his lovers look like _that_ , then they were well worth the trouble.

He shifted to find a more comfortable position, stretching his arms out to either side. Aramis immediately latched onto his side, pillowing his head on Porthos's bicep. Athos followed a moment later. A bright golden rocket exploded overhead, leaving trails of sparks across the sky. Aramis sighed happily.

Porthos settled back, content at last. Maybe he would reconsider adding this to their yearly traditions. It wasn't so bad after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 - 'holy shit I’m in the wrong car' AU
> 
> Tags: established Porthos/Athos, Athamis, implied Constagnan

Aramis hurried around the corner, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the car at the curb. D'Artagnan was on time, which was rare for the boy. Rarer still since he started spending all his free time with Constance.

Pulling his hood up, Aramis ran through the rain. He hoped the downpour would make it harder to spot him, but all the same, he'd feel better once he was inside the car. No way his ex would be able see him in there.

He nearly tripped over the curb, catching himself at the last minute on the door of the car. Unfortunately, his foot landed deep in a puddle, sending a wave of water over his ankles. Shit. He scowled into his hood. D'Artagnan would surely mock him for that.

Aramis climbed into the passenger seat, already preparing a counter-attack to D'Artagnan's inevitable teasing. He was focusing so intently on it that he didn't realize the car was dead silent for a good thirty seconds.

He glanced to his left but found his hood was still up. Annoyed, he pushed it back, turning to greet D'Artagnan, and found himself face to face with a stranger.

"Uhh..." he said, staring. The stranger stared back. Aramis noted absently that he had very pretty blue eyes. "You're not D'Artagnan."

The stranger raised an eyebrow. "I'm not, no." He had a nice voice, too. It was low and somehow soothing. But this wasn't the time for him to be noticing such things.

"Right," Aramis said, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn. "Sorry. I'm leaving."

He hopped back out of the car before the stranger could say anything. He began to walk back toward the building and froze. He didn't want to go back inside. Marsac was in there. But he couldn't stand out in the rain either, and D'Artagnan wasn't here yet. Water was already soaking through his thin jacket.

"Well, if you're not going in, you might as well come back to the car," Aramis turned and saw the man behind him had rolled his car window down. "In," he ordered when Aramis just stood there dumbly, staring.

Aramis obeyed, clambering back into the car. "Sorry," he muttered when he'd shut the door once more. "I thought this was my friend's car."

"So I gathered," the men said dryly. "But it would seem he isn't here yet, and as you apparently don't wish to go back inside, I might as well keep you from dying of pneumonia."

"Thank you," Aramis said gratefully. "I'm Aramis."

"Athos," the man replied.

"What makes you think I don't want to go back in?" Aramis asked, frowning as Athos's words caught up to him. Had it been that obvious?

Athos looked at him askance. "You stood out there in the rain for nearly a full minute," he said. "It was clear something was keeping you from going back in."

"Oh," he muttered, now feeling mortified. He'd stood there far longer than he'd realized. "Yeah, I saw my ex in there."

"Ah," Athos said, as if that were a perfectly logical reason to stand out in a downpour.

"I really didn't want to have to talk to him," Aramis admitted. "Thanks for rescuing me."

The corner of Athos's mouth twitched up. "You're very welcome," he said, looking as if he really meant it. "Did it end badly?"

Aramis sighed. Athos glanced over and murmured. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me to ask. You don't need to answer."

"No, it's fine," Aramis said. "I was going through some stuff, and I guess it was too much for him. He bailed. Now he wants back in."

Athos scowled. " _Salaud_ ," he muttered under his breath. "If he comes out here, I'd be happy to run him over for you."

Aramis laughed, but Athos looked deadly serious. "Thank you, but no," he told him, still smiling. "Though it would be okay if you just drove toward him for a minute to freak him out."

"I promise I will do so," Athos said seriously. "Now, is your friend coming to get you, or has he abandoned you to rain and unwelcome exes?" There was a hint of a smile playing about his lips as he glanced at Aramis.

Aramis blinked. That almost sounded like flirting. He flashed Athos an interested smile as he pulled out his phone to check. His smile quickly changed to a grimace. "No, he's not coming. Apparently he got held up at work."

 _With Constance. In a supply closet_ , his mind added. Aloud, he only said, "I'll have to walk to the bus stop, I suppose."

Athos glared as if he'd been personally offended. "You expect me to just let you walk off in the pouring rain without even an umbrella? How far away do you live?"

"Only about twenty minutes, but the bus stop isn't that far-"

"Nonsense. I can drive you home. Once Porthos shows up, that is."

"Porthos?" Aramis asked, feeling a bit lost at the sudden turn of events.

"My boyfriend," Athos said smoothly. Aramis deflated a bit. Perhaps that hadn't been flirting earlier. "I think he'll like you," Athos added. Ah. Much more encouraging.

Athos glanced out the window. "There he is now," he said, smiling. The expression so transformed his face that Aramis found himself staring until the sound of the door being opened behind him jerked him back to awareness.

"What's this?" a deep voice asked. Aramis turned around in his seat to see a tall, muscular man lounging across the back, regarding him with interest. This must be Porthos. "You pickin' up strays now, love?"

"This is Aramis," Athos said. "We're giving him a ride home so he doesn't have to talk to his ex."

"Nice to meet you," Porthos said, smiling at him. Oh yes, that was definitely interest. "Sure you gotta go straight home? We could have a drink first."

Aramis glanced at Athos, who was obviously waiting for his answer. "A drink sounds lovely," he said, grinning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 - “my neighbor keeps ordering weird shit but they don’t want to face the mail-person’s judgement so they keep using my address instead”
> 
> Tags: Portamis, miscommunications, and ensuing fluff

Porthos was flipping through his stack of takeout menus when the doorbell rang. He glanced out the window to see a FedEx truck parked on the street outside.

Weird. He hadn't ordered anything. Maybe it was for his neighbor. Aramis sometimes had packages sent to his house if he thought they would come while he was working. This wasn't exactly a part of town where you'd want to leave a box sitting unattended on a porch.

Porthos rose with a sigh and headed toward the front door. The postman was outside with a box about a foot long under his arm.

"You Aramis d'Herblay?" he asked when Porthos opened the door.

"Yeah," Porthos lied. It was a bit annoying, getting Aramis's mail so often, but at least it gave him a reason to go over and talk to him. He was so goddamn attractive that it was hard to work up the courage for a chat without a legitimate reason. Porthos wasn't easily intimidated, but his words always seemed to get tangled up whenever he tried to talk to Aramis.

"Right, sign here," said the postman. He passed Porthos an electric pad.

"Why've I got to sign for it?" Porthos asked curiously as he scrawled a signature. "It ain't that big."

The postman shrugged. "Dunno. When I scanned it, it asked for a signature. Have a nice evening."

Porthos went back inside, holding the small box in his hands. He was always curious about what Aramis had sent to his house. He would never open one of the packages, but it was fun trying to guess sometimes. It was like getting a little glimpse into his life.

He sat down at the table, placing the small box down in front of him. He flipped it around, looking for a return address. On the sticker in the top corner he read, "BIG Toys."

Porthos nearly dropped the box in shock. This couldn't be… it wasn't… was it? Fuck. If Aramis was shipping goddamn sex toys to his house, they were going to need to have a talk, and not the fun kind, full of Porthos's sad attempts at flirting. The serious kind.

He was so unsettled that he actually got up and walked over to the window, checking to see if Aramis's car was in his driveway, but he didn't seem to be home yet. He found himself pacing impatiently in his hallway, running through the conversation they needed to have. Should he just be blunt and confront him about the contents, or should he try to be subtle about it? Would asking about this ruin any chance he might have at getting closer to Aramis, or would the other man respect his forthrightness? What if the box held something perfectly innocent?

That thought stopped him in his tracks. What if it wasn't a sex toy, and he asked about it like it was? That would be horribly humiliating. He couldn't risk it.

There was only one way to know for sure. He could always tell Aramis he'd opened it without checking the name.

He was clutching the package in one hand and searching the drawers for his box cutter when he heard a car pull in next door. Aramis must be home.

Porthos froze. Should he open it, or bring it over? There was nothing that said he had to bring it over tonight. He could open it, see what it was, and reseal it to bring to Aramis in the morning.

His desperate schemes were ruined by a knock on the door.

Fuck.

He didn't think to put the box down before answering it. He tugged the door open to find Aramis on his porch, flashing him the usual brilliant smile.

"Hello Porthos!" he said cheerfully. "A package didn't come for me today, did it?" He glanced down and saw the box in Porthos's hands. "Ah, excellent, I've been waiting for that." He held out a hand expectantly, frowning when Porthos did not pass it over. "Porthos?"

All of Porthos's perfectly constructed scenarios went out the window. He simply asked the first thing that came to mind. "Is this a dildo?"

Aramis's jaw dropped. Porthos had a split second in which he contemplated throwing the box at Aramis and fleeing back into the house before Aramis threw his head back and laughed.

"What?" he asked at last, still chuckling. "Why would you ask that?"

Porthos pointed mutely to the label on the package. Aramis raised an eyebrow when he saw it. "Huh. That does sound like a sex toy company, doesn't it?"

It seemed he wasn't angry, but Porthos still felt like a complete idiot. "Sorry," he grunted, shoving the box at Aramis. He just wanted to go hide on his couch for the rest of his life.

"It's not a dildo, actually," Aramis said before he could make his escape. He was juggling the box, grinning. "Or a sex toy. Would you like to see what it is?"

He was pushing past Porthos before he could think of a reason to say no. Aramis dropped the box on the table and grabbed the scissors from the counter. Porthos watched silently as he pulled a smaller box from inside the package and turned it around so Porthos could see the label.

It was a remote control helicopter.

"You bought a helicopter?" Porthos asked, lips twitching into a grin. He hadn't pictured Aramis the type to get excited over gadgets.

"I saw one in a store once. It looked really cool. I wanted to try it, but there were too many little kids," Aramis explained, attacking the box with the scissors. He freed to the toy at last, clutching the remote with his other hand. "Want to try it out with me?"

He looked so eager that Porthos couldn't help but smile. "Alright," he agreed, the last of his embarrassment slipping away. Aramis wanted to spend time with him. "But if it crashes on my roof, you're going after it."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 - “I accidentally took the seat that was between a couple because they were fighting and now I have to deal with them fuck” au
> 
> Tags: established Athos/Porthos, OT3

The club was so packed that Aramis could hardly move. He wove toward the bar with difficulty, searching for a clear spot to grab a drink while he waited for his friends to show up. He spotted a space at last and found himself grinning. It was an empty stool sandwiched directly between two guys, both of whom looked attractive from here. Maybe he could pass the time with more than just a drink. The music here was excellent. All he needed was a partner.

Aramis squeezed into the space, dropping onto the vacant stool. He ordered a martini from the bartender and played 'eeny meeny miny mo' in his head to decide which of his new companions to smile at first. They guy on the left won, so Aramis turned and flashed him his most charming smile.

The smile died on his face when he saw the dark glare the man was giving his drink. He looked as if it had personally offended him and he was plotting his revenge. Aramis's heart almost stopped when the man's blue eyes lifted for a moment and the burning glare was sent his way.

He quickly turned away, not wanting to get involved with someone so obviously infuriated. He gave himself thirty seconds to calm down and then tried the patented smile on the guy on his right instead.

This guy actually met his eyes for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a way that made an oddly attractive scar down his face crinkle. Then a pointed cough came from Aramis's other side and the man looked away, now scowling as well.

Aramis turned back to his drink, hunching down in his seat. Now he understood why this seat had been empty in the otherwise overcrowded club. He'd sat down between a couple who were obviously in the middle of a fight.

Fuck.

Aramis briefly considered taking his drink and fleeing the area, but he knew he wouldn't find another empty seat for ages, and his friends wouldn't show for at least another hour.

Maybe he could just wait it out.

He'd barely managed a sip of his drink before it became clear that wasn't an option. The man on his right leaned around him and said loudly, "Why don't we just go home then, Athos?"

The other man's head jerked around. Aramis could see him glaring out of the corner of his eye. "Oh no. You wanted me to get out more. I'm out," the man named Athos said. From the way the man on his right blinked, it was clearly too loud in the club for him to hear Athos's response.

Aramis felt something brush his right side and realized the guy had nudged him. "What did he say?" he called over the music.

Oh no. He was not getting dragged into this. But the guy looked so deeply unhappy that he relented and said, "He doesn't want to go home."

The man's scowl deepened. "Can you tell him it's not a big deal, let's just go?"

Aramis sighed. He really needed to learn how to say no. But the man's eyes were on him, pleading with him to pass on the message, so he leaned to his left and repeated the message to Athos.

Those blue eyes swung around to glare at them. He almost leaned back against the other man to escape the anger in them. "Tell Porthos I'm just taking his advice. Loosening up," Athos spat.

Aramis turned back to Porthos and relayed the message, hoping that would be the end of it.

Of course, things were never that easy.

"Tell him I just wanted him to get out and have some fun," Porthos said irritably. "Go dancing, or something. Just get out of the house."

When that message was passed to Athos, the man finally leaned past Aramis to look at Porthos and shouted, "You want me to go dancing? Fine!" He turned to Aramis. "Care to dance?"

Aramis barely had time to set his drink on the bar before Athos's hand was around his wrist, pulling him off toward the overcrowded dance floor. This was not how he had been hoping to find someone to dance with.

Although now that he was here, he supposed he might as well make the best of it. Athos was undeniably attractive, even if his idea of dancing seemed to be just standing there staring at Aramis while shifting from side to side.

Aramis shrugged internally. He'd danced with worse, and Athos's looks more than made up for it. He was just starting to dance himself when Porthos came plowing through the crowd, glaring daggers. For a brief moment, he was worried he was about to get beaten up, but Porthos just grabbed his arm and spun him around.

"That ain't even dancing," he growled at Athos.

"Please, show me how it's done," Athos snapped back, something challenging in his blue eyes.

The next few minutes were a whirl of motion. Porthos was an incredible dancer, and Aramis let himself be swept up by the music. Every so often he would turn around and catch sight of Athos watching them almost hungrily, something heated in his expression.

At last the music dropped off for a moment, and they stopped. Aramis stood panting, watching Porthos and Athos compete in some sort of strange, sexually charged staring contest. At last, Athos's mouth twitched into a satisfied smirk. Porthos grinned back.

"Perhaps there are benefits to leaving the house after all," Athos said, his eyes slipping to Aramis as if measuring him up.

"Told ya so," Porthos said smugly.

"Perhaps we should buy you a drink for putting up with us." It took Aramis a minute to realize Athos and Porthos were watching him expectantly.

Self-preservation said no, but the interest in their eyes changed his mind. "A drink sounds perfect," he said. Wearing matching grins of satisfaction, Athos and Porthos led the way back to the bar.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 - Runaway royalty and confused commoner AU
> 
> Tags: Fleanon, because I haven't written that yet, implied Athamis, and possibly even eventual OT3 if you squint really hard

Flea swore when she missed for what felt like the thirtieth time that afternoon. The ball glanced off the rim and took the small suction cup basketball hoop down with it. Flea looked around, but there was no one in the shop to see. It was a slow day. A slow year, if she was being honest. But she'd built this bakery herself from the ground up, and she'd be damned if she couldn't keep it afloat.

But that didn't mean she couldn't leave early once in a while. She was supposed to meet Porthos for drinks in an hour. She doubted any customers were going to come by before then. It wouldn't hurt to head home now.

Flea began closing up. She checked the till, swept the floors, washed the counters, stacked the chairs on the tables, and pulled the pastries out of the case that would need to be tossed tonight. The cupcakes had been made that morning, so they could stay overnight, and the cakes were all okay, but the croissants and the other flaky pastries should really go. She'd save a couple for breakfast. It didn't bother her if the food was slightly stale. She'd eaten worse before she got this place.

Satisfied that she'd done everything, she headed for the front window. She had just flipped the open sign to closed when the door flew open and someone came charging in.

"Quick, pull the curtains," the woman said, leaning against the door to catch her breath. She was wearing oversized sunglasses and had a scarf tied around her head like she'd been driving in a convertible. Her clothing looked to be the height of fashion. Flea felt suddenly self-conscious in her flour covered apron.

"Fuck off, we're closed," Flea said, feeling wrong-footed by the woman's sudden appearance. This shop might be all she had, but as long as she owned it no one was going to tell her what to do in it.

"Please," the woman said anxiously, peering out the window around the giant display cake Flea had set up a few days ago.

That got Flea's attention. Maybe the lady was trying to escape from an abusive ex or something. She wasn't about to throw her out on the street if she might be in danger.

"Fine," she sighed, tugging the curtains across the front windows. She'd just drawn the last one when the woman said " _merde_ " very softly. Flea followed her gaze and saw a large group of people coming down the street. They were all carrying bulky items. For a second, Flea thought they might be a hit squad. But the woman didn't look scared, just annoyed.

"Looking for you, I take it?" she asked.

"Yes," the woman said wearily. "I thought I'd lost them. Can I just hide in here until they leave? Please?"

"What if they come in?" Flea asked.

"The closed sign is up."

"That didn't stop you." Flea glanced out at the street again. The group was getting closer. "Ugh, fine, I'll take care of it. Wait here." Before the woman could say anything she pushed her way out of the shop. The tinkling bell alerted the group up the street. They saw her and moved to envelop her like a school of sharks.

"Have you seen anyone come down here?" one man asked. He had a camera on his shoulder. So did almost everyone else in the group. They were all jostling for position, trying to see her.

It was the fucking paparazzi.

Flea put on her best vacant expression. "Nope. Not a lot of business in these parts lately," she said. "Who ya looking for?"

Most of the reporters had lost interest the moment she said she hadn't seen anyone. They were already moving on down the street. A handful hung back. One woman passed her a business card. "We're looking for Princess Ninon. If you happen to see her, give me a call," she told her.

"Princess?" Flea asked, hoping her shock was not reflected on her face. "H-how will I know what she looks like?

"You'll know her if you see her," the lady called over her shoulder as she headed down the street.

Flea waited until she was sure the reporters had gone before she went back inside. She looked around and found the woman sitting on the counter, grinning at her. She'd taken off the sunglasses and the scarf. Fuck, she was gorgeous. She really did look like a princess, even sitting in front of rows of cupcakes in the display cases behind her. It had been a long time since she'd seen anyone that beautiful. Flea tried her hardest not to flush. She couldn't start coming on to royalty. She could probably get arrested for that.

The woman was watching her curiously. Flea realized she'd been standing there in silence for a while. Shit. How did one talk to a princess?

"So, a princess, huh? You're fucking royalty?"

Flea winced at her own words. Probably not like that.

"Well, technically I'm the Comtesse de Larroque," she said, glancing around Flea's little shop. "And to answer your second question, I'm not currently fucking anyone. And you can just call me Ninon, please. Thanks for letting me stay. They would've mobbed me if I'd gone back outside." Her smile was so genuine that Flea felt bad for her harsh tone earlier.

"I'm Flea," she said, silently daring Ninon to say anything about her name. She didn't. "Why were you running from the paparazzi anyway?" she asked, wandering over to lean against the counter close to where Ninon was sitting. She still felt ill at ease in the presence of an honest to god aristocrat.

"Oh, them. They got word from someone that my engagement had been called off. They've been hunting me nonstop for the last three days. This was the first day I even made it out of my hotel. I got to the car before anyone saw me. And then they decided to give chase." Her face twisted with annoyance. It didn't detract from her looks at all.

"Yikes," Flea said sympathetically. She wouldn't have guessed she'd ever feel bad for someone living in the lap of luxury, but that did sound pretty awful. "That sucks. Sorry about your engagement."

Ninon laughed. "Oh, no, it's nothing like that. He's my best friend. It was our parents' idea that we get married anyway. We both decided it would be in everyone's best interests to end it. It would never have worked out."

"Why not?" Flea asked. She wondered if it was impertinent to ask royalty questions. But she'd never given much of a damn about social conventions before. Came from growing up on the streets.

"We were incompatible in some very crucial ways. He's gay, and so am I," Ninon said simply. She smiled at Flea in a way that got her heart beating a little too fast. "But the media doesn't know that yet. I don't care if they find out about me, but he's not ready to come out just yet. I'm trying to respect his privacy, and that of his partner."

Flea had lost focus sometimes after that smile. A whole new world of opportunity had just opened up before her. "That's nice of you," she managed, sliding slightly closer along the counter. Ninon smiled at her and didn't move away.

"It's making my life decidedly difficult," she confessed. "I've been eating room service for the last three days. I couldn't even order a pizza in case they followed the delivery person up." She slid off the counter and walked over to the window, twitching back the curtain to check the street outside. "It looks like they've all gone. I should leave, I suppose. I've encroached on your time long enough."

Flea didn't want her to leave. She was still trying to figure out if Ninon was actually flirting back. "They might still be out there," she said quickly. "You should stay a while longer."

Ninon hesitated. It looked as if she was searching for a reason to say yes. "I'll order us some pizza," Flea added. "With whatever toppings you want. And we could have cupcakes for dessert." She pointed at the case behind the counter.

Ninon looked at the cupcakes hungrily. "I do like red velvet," she confessed.

"So you'll stay?" Fleas asked hopefully.

"How could I resist such a tempting offer?" Ninon said, beaming at her. "It's a date." She hopped back up on the counter, looking perfectly at home in front of the cases of sugary sweets.

Flea fought to keep a giant, idiotic grin off her face as she pulled up the number for her favorite pizza place on her phone. A date. Ninon said it was a date. She didn't even care if Ninon wanted anchovies and pineapple on the damn pizza. She'd eat whatever strange toppings she wanted if it meant she could spend a few more hours in her company.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 - “I’m a siren and I keep accidentally forgetting that I have roommates now and and end up putting them in my thrall when I’m singing Taylor Swift songs in the shower” AU
> 
> Today's our first paranormal option, and this one was just too much fun to pass up. Even though i only mentioned the actual prompt in passing.
> 
> Tags: Athamis, Aramis being a bit promiscuous, but when isn't he

Sometimes Aramis wondered what life would be like if he weren't a siren. Would he be able to walk down the street, humming a song from his iPod, and not turn around to find half of the city following him with love-struck expressions? He couldn't even whistle without attracting a crowd.

Mind you, it made it easy to find a quick date. All he had to do was pick from one of the man men and women following him. But if he asked in front of the others, the chance for violence increased drastically. And they were only ever good for one or two dates. Soon enough, it would be clear they'd been taken only with his voice, or that they had nothing in common. It wasn't like he had time to interview everyone one of them for compatible interests. Sometimes they had sex, and sometimes they didn't, but they were never much more than a one night stand.

It was exhausting.

Just last week, he'd been singing "Bad Blood" in the shower and walked out to find D'Artagnan gazing wistfully at the door. Incidents like that were precisely why he hadn't wanted a roommate. But the rent was too much for him to handle alone unless he wanted to monetize his voice, so he'd agreed to share a place with the kid.

Luckily, D'Artagnan had snapped out of the rapt trance soon after and seemed even more embarrassed than he was about the incident. They'd agreed that D'Artagnan would put a pair of headphones on any time Aramis was going to be in the shower, so he'd be free to sing in his own home at least.  
Tonight, like most nights, he found himself sitting in the bar down the street from his apartment. He always came to this one because it had a little karaoke setup, and it was fun watching the humans belt out that travesty they called singing. It gave him some entertainment, at least, and if they started doing really terrible he had the permission of the owner to go up and take over. Treville kept a special pair of ear plugs behind the bar for just that reason.

Aramis didn't feel like singing tonight. He'd had a spectacularly bad date the night before with a guy he'd picked up from one of his many enthralled stalkers on the street, and he'd wound up being rude and pushy and Aramis had been forced to throw him out. Tonight he would be quite happy just getting drunk.

He was on his second drink when he head Treville say, "Athos, I didn't know you were back in the States!" He sounded sincerely excited, which was such a novelty for Treville that he actually looked around to see who this Athos was that could have prompted such a reaction.

A handsome man had taken a seat a few stools down at the bar. Aramis knew immediately this must be Athos. He wore an expression of general disinterest, though he smiled at Treville. His blue eyes flicked around the bar, pausing for half a second on Aramis before he turned back to Treville.

"Came back this morning," Athos told him.

"You home for a while?"

"Possibly permanently," said Athos.

"That's good news, son," Treville said gruffly. "The usual?"

"Yes, thank you."

While Treville went to fetch the man a drink, Aramis did his best to turn on his stool in a way that looked natural but let him get a better look at this Athos. He thought about shifting down a few stools to be closer to him, but that might make him look desperate. He settled for catching Athos's eye when he looked around the bar once more.

He opened his mouth to speak and promptly froze up. It had been so long since he'd needed to actually chat someone up that he'd forgotten how to do it. These days, if he liked someone, he just had to sing around them and they were putty in his hands.

Athos was now regarding him with some concern, probably wondering if he had escaped from the local mental ward. Aramis turned back to his drink, face burning, and tried to focus on the music, but that just made it worse. Some drunken idiot was up on stage trying to sing "Bohemian Rhapsody." It was an affront to music lovers everywhere.

Maybe he should just leave. Retreat back to his apartment and forget all about handsome strangers with piercing blue eyes. He stood up, ready to make his escape, but before he could leave, Treville caught his eye.

"Could you do something about him, Aramis?" he asked, nodding toward the corner where the karaoke machine had been set up. The singer's voice was now so scratchy people in the bar were wincing. Some appeared to have fled. Treville already had his earplugs in his hand.

Aramis wanted to say no, but Athos was watching him now, obviously curious. He hadn't really wanted to get him interested like this, but he supposed it would be better than going home alone.

"Yeah, alright," he said, heading toward the singer. An offer of a drink on the house cleared the tiny stage, and the complaints of those waiting their turn died as soon as he began to sing. He didn't bother with the machine: it wasn't like he needed musical accompaniment to sound amazing. He kept glancing at Athos while he sang, but to his surprise, Athos did not once turn away from the bar.

It wasn't until he sat down that he realized he'd just given an alarmingly heartfelt rendition of "Alone" by Heart. That was embarrassing. But luckily no one would be able to remember what he'd sang. That was the beauty of a siren's song.

He glanced over to find Athos regarding him strangely. He didn't look entranced. He barely even looked impressed. But that was impossible.

"You have a nice voice," Athos said conversationally.

"Nice?" Aramis spluttered, momentarily shocked. "Just _nice_?"

"Well, I suppose it's quite good. You could probably have a career as a singer," Athos said, shrugging. He didn't seem to notice that everyone in the bar except Treville was now staring at Aramis with open adoration.

"I'm an amazing singer," Aramis said, beginning to feel insulted.

"Each to each's own," Athos said, sipping his drink. Treville was standing at the bar now, looking between them as though preparing to break up a fight.

Aramis glared. "I'm a fucking siren," he snapped, surprised at his own anger. He usually didn't go around shouting that fact, but Athos's indifference was infuriating. "When I sing, you're supposed to be utterly fascinated by me! Why isn't it working? What's wrong with you?"

"Ah," Athos said, a smirk playing about his unfairly attractive face. "Perhaps that would be because I was already madly in love with you."

Aramis flushed, glaring at him. "Don't fuck about. It doesn't work that way."

"Well then, I suppose I must be immune," Athos said shrugging.

"No one is immune," Aramis growled. "That's impossible." A few of the patrons were starting to approach, still staring at him with love-struck expressions. Treville glared at them until they backed off.

"Oh?" Athos said, raising one eyebrow challengingly. "Go on, then, try to make me fall in love with you."

"Fine," Aramis snarled. The first thing that came to him was Billy Joel's "Big Shot," so he sang the chorus. Athos did not even blink.

"See? Immune," he said coolly.

"Right then," Aramis said, fury pulsing through him as he pushed back from the bar. "Nice to meet you." He turned away. He wasn't going to stay here another minute with this infuriating man and be insulted. He was going home.

He was halfway to the door when someone began humming behind him. He would have ignored it if it weren't for the way everyone's attention seemed drawn to it. Confused, he stopped and turned back to find Athos watching him with a knowing expression. Everyone in the bar was watching him, much as they'd been watching Aramis a little while earlier.

"You're immune too," Athos called to him, smirking.

Aramis walked back to the bar, feeling dazed. "You're a siren too," he said, hardly believing it.

Athos inclined his head. "I am indeed. Treville actually told me you frequent this place. I thought I would come by and introduce myself. Am I to understand you've never met another?"

Aramis shook his head weakly, collapsing onto the nearest stool.

"Ah," Athos said, now looking rather apologetic. "I'm sorry, then. I thought you were just being vain. You really didn't know sirens are immune to the song?"

"This is a lot to process," Aramis said. "I think I need a drink."

"Allow me," Athos said. His smile was far warmer now than it had been earlier. He signaled at Treville, who was looking a bit dazed. He hadn't put the earplugs in, it seemed. "I believe we have much to discuss."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 - “I was trying to take a sneaky picture of you because i told my friend about the hot guy on the train and she wanted to see but you totally noticed and yeah this is awkward” au
> 
> Tags: Porthos/Athos, established Portamis, implied OT3

Normally, Porthos loved the train. He liked to look out the window as the world rolled by and play his music with the volume turned up. If the person next to him looked friendly, he might pass the journey chatting about the world. Train rides were usually a positive experience.

Today, the train was hell.

He'd lost his headphones somewhere between the coffee shop and the platform, so listening to music was out of the question. The book he was reading was sitting on his nightstand at home, and he hadn't thought to grab a newspaper on the way. A baby kept crying somewhere behind him, so sleep was out of the question, and there was no one sitting near him to talk to.

And it would be at least another two hours before his stop.

He was going to die of boredom.

Porthos checked his phone for the fourth time in as many minutes, cheering up a bit when he saw Aramis had sent him a new message. He couldn't carry on a proper conversation at the moment because he was at work, but every so often he'd manage to reply. It was really all that Porthos was holding on to right now.

He read Aramis's message, grinning fondly at the flood of emojis that filled every text from his boyfriend. _That sucks. Any cute passengers riding with you?_ This was followed by half a dozen winking and kissing smiley faces.

_Thought boyfriends were meant to discourage flirting with other people?_

Aramis replied with the definition of the word polyamory, which he'd clearly just pulled from the internet, and the words, _start looking, mon cher_.

Porthos laughed softly to himself and peered around the compartment, craning his neck to see over the back of his seat. There were a couple cute guys, but they all seemed to be with people. He was about to give up the search when he caught sight of a guy sitting a few rows behind him on the opposite side, staring out the window with a bored expression.

 _Found one_ , he texted Aramis.

_What's he look like?_

_Dark hair, blue eyes, really hot_ , Porthos replied. _You'd like him._

Aramis's reply was exactly what he expected it to be. _I demand pics!_

Porthos sighed, wondering how on earth he would finagle this. The guy didn't seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings, and a quick look back confirmed he was still staring out the window. Maybe he could take a sneaky picture before he turned around to look again.

He glanced quickly around the compartment to make sure no one was paying any attention to him. When he was sure all the other passengers were suitably distracted, he twisted in his seat and swiftly raised his phone, cursing under his breath when it took a few seconds to focus on the guy by the window. He pressed the button to take the picture.

The flash went off.

For a second, he simply sat there, frozen in shock. Had he not turned the flash off? Maybe the guy wouldn't notice. But no, he was turning away from the window, because the flash had reflected in his line of sight. Porthos sank back in his chair before the guy looked his way, but it would be obvious who took the picture. There was no one else sitting up here.

He probably wouldn't come up, right? This would be just as awkward for him as it was for Porthos. Secure in that knowledge, Porthos went ahead and texted Aramis the picture.

_Cute, right?_

_It's blurry,_ Aramis sent back. _Take another._

Porthos sighed. He doubted there was any way he could risk taking another picture, but he'd always loved a challenge. He glanced surreptitiously back over the seat to check if the guy had gone back to looking out the window yet.

He hadn't. In fact, he was staring directly at Porthos. Even as he looked, the man started to get up from his seat.

 _HE SAW ME_ , Porthos texted Aramis frantically. _WHAT DO I DO?_

 _Run_ , Aramis replied. _Or start making out with him. Your call._

Panicking now, Porthos started considering his options. Maybe he could jump off the train. That was the solution, obviously.

He was just contemplating how to make it to the emergency exit without being stopped when something moved at the end of the aisle. He didn't want to look, but he couldn't help it.

The man was standing there, one eyebrow raised as if contemplating something interesting. "Did you take my picture?" he asked, blue eyes boring into Porthos's.

Fuck. His voice was as attractive as the rest of him. Not really a helpful thing to notice right now.

Porthos wanted to lie, but he figured honesty was probably the best policy right now. "Yes," he admitted, wincing. "Sorry."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why did you take my picture?" the man asked calmly.

Porthos blinked at him. "Uh, my boyfriend wanted to know if there was anyone hot on the train."

"And so you took my picture?" The man looked amused now. "Does that mean you think I'm hot?"

Porthos sensed that the way this conversation went hinged on his answer now. "Yeah, I do," he said confidently, refusing to back down in the face of that icy stare.

"Hmmm," the man said. "Interesting. Was it a good picture?"

"No," Porthos admitted. "It was a shit angle."

"Well then, you'd better send another." Porthos gaped at him. "Really, I insist. Can't have your boyfriend missing the whole picture, don't you agree?"

"His name's Aramis," Porthos said, feeling slightly dazed as he lifted his phone again.

"You can tell him Athos says hello." Athos half-smiled as he took the picture. He sent it to Aramis immediately with the message. "Now, is this seat taken?"

When Porthos nodded numbly, Athos sat down beside him. A moment later Porthos's phone buzzed.

_You'd better be bringing him home._

Porthos laughed weakly. It seemed they were in agreement.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 - How to deal with a heat wave the Musketeer way 
> 
> Tags: OT3, implied Constagnan, Athos being a bad influence

Athos was hot.

He'd been hot before, of course. It was unavoidable if you lived in this part of the country. Summers were always too warm for his taste, but Aramis loved the heat, and so they stayed. This was different. Stepping outside felt like stepping into a sauna. Humidity was at one hundred percent, and the temperature kept climbing. They'd been surviving mostly as a result of their lovely, industrial strength air conditioner.

But last night, their air conditioner broke.

This must be what hell felt like.

“Why is it so hot?” D’Artagnan whined. Athos lifted his head from the back of the couch and caught sight of the boy laying on the floor.

“Why are you even here?” he asked wearily, flopping back. “Can’t you go stay with Constance until we get it fixed?”

“Constance kicked me out,” D’Artagnan said, rolling around unhappily. “She said one of her friends needed a place to stay for a few days and would be more comfortable without a guy around. It’s so hot!”

“I know,” Athos snapped. “Where the hell is Porthos? He said he’d call the repair people.”

“I just got off the phone with them,” Porthos said, shuffling into the room. His forehead glistened with sweat. “It’ll be at least another day before they can get out here.”

“A whole day? We’ll all be dead by then,” D’Artagnan groaned. Athos privately agreed.

“Can’t we go camp out at the bar until it’s fixed? Surely Treville won’t leave us here to die of heatstroke,” Athos said.

“It’s closed,” Aramis mumbled from where he was draped across the armchair in the corner. He’d held out against the heat better than the rest of them, but it was finally starting to get to him too. “Treville’s partner just came home, and he took the weekend off.”

“Then let’s just go live in the car until the air conditioner is fixed,” D’Artagnan suggested.

“We’d burn out the battery running the A.C. all night,” Porthos said, sighing. “We’ll just have to cope.” He sat down on the couch next to Athos, close enough that their legs touched. Ordinarily, Athos would welcome the contact, but in this heat, it was unbearable. He shuffled further down the couch to escape the furnace that was Porthos.

“Isn’t there a water park or something nearby?” Aramis asked.

“It would be too crowded to bother with,” Porthos pointed out.

“How about a pool?” D’Artagnan suggested.

Athos sighed. “We’re banned from one because Porthos started a fight with one of the lifeguards, and the other because Aramis decided it would be fun to jump off the diving board without clothes on.”

“So did you,” Aramis cried indignantly. D’Artagnan turned to stare at Athos with wide eyes. Athos ignored him. It had only been the one time. And it was all Aramis’s fault that they’d been caught. 

“Well, if we keep sitting here, we’ll die of dehydration within the hour,” Porthos said, cutting off D’Artagnan’s inevitable questions. “Let’s go across the street. There might be a breeze in the park at least.”

There wasn’t. Athos lay on his back in the grass, glaring up at the cloudless sky. His skin felt slimy where Aramis had insisted he put sunscreen on. He could hear him trying to do the same to D’Artagnan, who was apparently resisting. Thankfully, there was no one else in the park to witness Porthos pinning the boy down so Aramis could put sunscreen on him. It seemed everyone else had working air conditioners, because the park was totally empty.

Maybe he could just go to sleep for a while. They were lying in the sparse shade afforded by one of the grand old trees, and it was marginally cooler than it had been in the apartment. Maybe it was finally cool enough for him to fall asleep for the foreseeable future.

He’d barely had his eyes closed for ten minutes when he felt something crawling on the back of his neck. He leapt up with a curse and frantically brushed the ants off his clothing. The others followed seconds after. Apparently they’d decided to rest on an ant hill.

Athos managed to get the ants off his clothes, but he could still feel some crawling around inside his shirt. He couldn’t see any option but to pull his entire shirt off. D’Artagnan had gone one further, and was down to his boxers, his clothes in a pile beneath the tree. Porthos had followed suit. Aramis was the only one still fully dressed. An unusual occurrence, Athos thought wryly.

“This isn’t working,” he said at last, dropping his shirt onto the growing pile of clothes. He glared at Aramis, who was eyeing the sunscreen again, probably contemplating whether or not he should attack Athos with it again. 

“I agree,” grunted Porthos, who’d managed to get one leg tangled in his shorts and was now attempting to get them off. 

“Should we just head back?” D’Artagnan asked.

Athos thought about returning to the oven their apartment had become and shuddered. There had to be something else they could do. They were no longer wearing enough clothes to find a restaurant or store to hide in. Thankfully the park had remained empty, so there was no one to see.

He found his eyes sweeping the park, looking for a solution. A few hundred feet away, he found the answer. He nudged Aramis with an elbow. “Race you,” he murmured, adrenaline already kicking in. 

“Really?” Aramis asked, looking delighted. “Isn’t that trespassing or something?”

“It’s too hot to care,” Athos replied. “On three?”

Aramis began the countdown, breaking off in an affronted squawk when Athos ran before he finished. The sun beating down made him feel like he would die before he reached his destination, but he made it at last and flung himself into the fountain.

The others followed moments later, splashing into the blissfully cool water. Athos didn’t even care if they got arrested. It would be worth it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 - “okay i get that there are no seats left in this cafe but like i am trying to read here no you cannot have this chair my feet are using it thank you very much please get out of my face now” au
> 
> Tags: Athos/Porthos, OT3, bit of Constagnan thrown in for good measure

Athos idly turned the page of his book, trying to ignore the crowd around him. He'd chosen this café because it was out of the way and not normally crowded. It was just his luck that the Starbucks down the street was closed today, flooding his little coffee shop with commuters on their way from work.

He'd never seen it this crowded before. Every seat was filled. The line stretched almost to the door. Behind the counter, Constance was looking frazzled as she scrambled about trying to prepare all the complicated drink orders. Just past her, D'Artagnan was hurriedly mopping up a spill on the counter with the end of his own shirt.

A shadow fell over Athos's book. He glanced up lazily to see someone standing near the table, hopefully eyeing the chair across from him. Athos smirked and settled more comfortably, stretching his feet even further across the other chair. The person looked annoyed, but not enough to get into an argument with him about it. They left the café.

Athos was aware that it was rude to use two seats when the shop was this busy. He just didn't care. He needed that seat, and he'd be damned if he was going to give it up to one of the people who had invaded his quiet haven. He leaned back and continued to read.

A few minutes later, a shadow crossed his page again. Annoyed, he glanced up to find a man standing beside him, clutching a cup of coffee. He was tall and very muscular, with a scar running across one eye. Athos kept his face carefully impassive, but inside he admitted the man was very attractive.

"That seat taken?" he asked, nodding towards the chair Athos's feet were occupying.

"Yes," Athos said coldly, hoping the stranger would get the hint and go away.

"No it ain't." The man clearly wasn't going to give up so easily. Athos fixed him with a cold glare.

"It's occupied," he snapped. "Kindly leave, so I may return to my book."

"You don't need two chairs, mate. It's crowded in here. You can have it back when I leave," the man said, moving one hand to the back of the chair in question.

"I won't need it back, because I don't intend to give it up!" Athos growled.

"That's really fucking rude," the man said bluntly. "What if a pregnant lady came in?"

"Then I would do the gentlemanly thing and offer her the chair," Athos said. "But you appear to be in perfect health, and I see no reason to surrender my comfort for your sake."

Without warning, the man tugged suddenly on the chair. If Athos had not preemptively wound his feet through the slats, it would have been tugged free. He smirked when the man growled in annoyance.

"Right," the man said, glaring. He turned on his heel and marched away. Feeling rather smug, Athos returned to his book.

"Athos!" He nearly jumped in his seat when he name was shouted across the café. He spun around to see Constance standing at the counter, hands on her hips, glaring furiously at him. Beside her stood the man who wanted his chair. He was already heading back in Athos's direction. "Don't you dare make difficulties in my shop! I'll give you decaf for the next month!" Constance cried.

Athos snarled as the man approached, but a higher authority had spoken. He moved his feet, wishing it was raining so he could have left muddy imprints on the chair.

The man sat down, smiling triumphantly. "Thanks, mate," he said, as if he hadn't just pulled a kindergarten move and tattled to the teacher to get what he wanted.

Athos did not even dignify him with a response. He slouched down until he could block the man's face with his book and tried to read. Unfortunately, the man had other ideas.

"I'm Porthos," he said, still grinning. "What are you reading?"

Athos ignored him completely.

"This is a nice place," Porthos said, looking around appreciatively. "Maybe I'll start coming here in the mornings instead."

Fuming silently, Athos tightened his grip on his book, refusing to acknowledge the infuriating man. He kept trying to start conversations for a few more minutes, but when he repeatedly failed to get a rise out of Athos, he finally gave up.

Athos glanced at the time, then over at the door. He'd hoped Porthos would be gone by now, so he could have the chair back. He sighed when Aramis came bounding through the door like a ray of human sunshine. Now Athos would have to give up his own seat so he could sit.

He glowered at Porthos, who looked confused by the sudden increase in attention, while Aramis popped by the counter and grabbed the latte Constance always prepared as soon as she saw him. A moment later he was at the table.

" _Bonjour, mon cher_ ," he exclaimed, bending down to kiss Athos.

" _Bonjour_ ," Athos replied, ignoring Porthos's stare. "I lost your seat. You can take mine."

"That's not necessary," Porthos said before he could get up. "He can have mine. I'd have let you keep it if you'd told me you were saving it for someone."

Athos noticed Aramis watching him with interest. Not this one, please, he begged silently. Aloud, he said, "No, he'll take mine, thank you." They glared at one another across the table, each determined to sacrifice their seats.

"For god's sake," Aramis muttered, rolling his eyes. He disappeared in the direction of the counter and reappeared a moment later carrying a spare chair from the storage closet. He set it down at the table and dropped into it, smiling at both of them.

Athos met Porthos's eyes across the table. Aramis's presence was soothing his ruffled feathers, so he offered a cease fire. "My name is Athos. This is Aramis."

Porthos's eyes flicked between them with what was obviously interest as he grinned. "Nice to meet you."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 - Ice cream
> 
> Tags: Constagnan, background OT3

"What on earth are you doing?"

D'Artagnan looked around to see Athos watching him. "Um," he muttered, trying not to look guilty that he'd just been caught ransacking the refrigerator. "Looking for a snack?"

"We just ate dinner," Athos said, his voice ringing with disbelief.

D'Artagnan shrugged. "I'm already hungry." He went back to raiding the fridge. "Why don't we ever have anything for dessert?" he asked despairingly.

"I think there's some popsicles in there," said Athos. He didn't seem as concerned with the deplorable lack of frozen snacks as D'Artagnan was.

He dug around and pulled out the box Athos was referring to. "These?" he asked, making a face. "These are shit, first of all, and second, they're totally freezer burned! Who even bought these?"

"I did," Porthos grumbled, appearing in the doorway. "I like 'em."

"How long have they been in there?" D'Artagnan asked, eyeing the freeze pops. They were more ice than popsicle at this point.

"At least since last summer," Athos shrugged.

D'Artagnan tossed the entire box in the trash. "Why don't we ever have any ice cream?" he asked plaintively.

"Ice cream?" Aramis was suddenly in the kitchen, looking around in excitement. "I want ice cream!"

"Because Aramis eats it all," Athos said dryly.

"You ate it all, dummy," Porthos said, chuckling. "So you can't have any."

Aramis's face fell. It brightened again within seconds. "There are other places we could go to get ice cream!"

"We are not going to the store at this hour," Athos said sternly.

"We could try that new ice cream place on the other side of town!"

Ain't that the one on Constance's street?" Porthos asked.

D'Artagnan had only been partially paying attention to the discussion, but he perked up at Constance's name. They'd only been on a few dates so far, but he felt like things were going well. "Think they're open?"

"It's summer," Aramis said scornfully. "Of course they're open."

"Let's get going then!" D'Artagnan cried. Aramis and Porthos grinned and made a dash for the door. Athos followed with a long suffering expression.

As soon as they were in the car, D'Artagnan sent a text to Constance. _We're going for ice cream. Wanna come?_

They were almost to the ice cream place before she replied. _Sure. Can I get a ride?_

"Stop the car!" D'Artagnan yelled. Aramis and Porthos both jumped. Thankfully Athos was driving and barely even flinched.

"Why?" he asked icily, glaring at D'Artagnan in the rearview mirror.

"Constance needs a ride," he said meekly. "We're about to drive by her street."

"Next time tell us that without giving anyone a heart attack," Athos muttered, turning obligingly down Constance's street and pulling into her driveway. She was at the door before D'Artagnan could text her, climbing over him to sit in the middle.

"What ice cream place are we going to?" she asked, smiling around at them.

"The one down the street," Porthos supplied. D'Artagnan settled for trying not to grin like a fool at the way she was pressed up against his side. They'd been friends for almost a year before he finally worked up the courage to ask her out. She'd insisted that dating wouldn't change their friendship, and so far, she'd been right. The only thing that had changed was him. He'd always been tongue-tied and flustered in her presence, but now it was worse. He hoped it would go away soon.

The ice cream place was crowded, but not more than he'd expected on a hot night. They got in line, and D'Artagnan and Porthos, being the tallest, took on the duty of reading off the menu for the others.

"So, what are you going to get?" D'Artagnan asked, feeling the strange nervousness grip him once again.

"The biggest hot fudge sundae they have!" Constance said, grinning wickedly at him.

To his relief, Aramis jumped into the conversation and began debating the merits of marshmallow sauce as opposed to whipped cream, and he was able to listen to their argument all the way up to the order window.

The poor woman working looked a bit overwhelmed by the five immensely complicated orders, but she waved them along to the other window to pay all the same. D'Artagnan panicked a moment when he saw Constance going for her purse. He was supposed to pay, right? Thankfully, Athos stepped forward and payed for all of them after a brief stare-down with Porthos, who had also gone for his wallet.

Ice cream in hand, they fought through the crowd to find an empty table. D'Artagnan fought not to glare furiously at Porthos when he took the empty seat next to him, forcing Constance to sit on the other side of the table. She didn't seem to mind, but it was still a betrayal.

There was one too few seats, so Aramis sat on Porthos's lap. Porthos gave Athos a cheeky grin as if this were somehow payback for buying the ice cream. In a childish move no one expected, Athos darted out and smeared whipped cream across Porthos's nose.

For a minute, silence reigned. Then Porthos shouted, "I'll get you for that, you bastard!" He nearly shoved Aramis to the ground in his hurry to get up. Aramis grabbed Porthos's ice cream before it hit the ground, and D'Artagnan found himself similarly in charge of Athos's. Then they were off toward the parking lot, Aramis following with an interested expression.

Constance had leapt up as they did to avoid getting crushed. Now she laughed and dropped into the newly vacant seat next to D'Artagnan.

"It's always something with you lot," she said, shaking her head affectionately. Her leg brushed D'Artagnan's. Emboldened, he pulled his chair a bit closer and smiled at her.

"I bet you my cherry that Porthos wins," he said, feeling at ease for the first time that night.

Constance laughed. "Bet you mine it's Athos!" Neither of them payed any attention to the faint cursing coming from the parking lot.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 - Both bidding in an auction for a property/lighthouse etc. Could be planning on renovating it, end up doing it together.
> 
> Just watched a playthrough of "To the Moon," so lighthouses are making me a bit emotional right now. This might be my favorite prompt yet.
> 
> Tags: established Portamis, Porthos/Athos, eventual OT3

Porthos craned his neck impatiently, watching the podium at the front of the room. The auction should have started ages ago. The wait was making him anxious: there were more people here than he'd hoped for. He had to pray his savings would be enough to beat all other offers.

Beside him at the bar, Aramis was looking far too calm. "Relax, _querido_ ," he murmured, pushing another beer toward him.

Porthos scowled but accepted the drink. "It's hard," he admitted, watching Aramis flash charming smiles at anyone who glanced their way. "I've wanted this place since I was a kid."

"We'll get it," Aramis promised, squeezing his forearm. Porthos amended his previous thought: he hoped their _combined_ savings would be enough. Aramis was putting himself on the line here too.

The door opened at the front and someone slipped in. Porthos caught a glimpse of an impeccably tailored suit and an incongruously messy beard before the man vanished into the crowd. A moment later the microphone buzzed on. Apparently the auctioneer had decided to begin at last.

Odd timing, he thought to himself as he and Aramis found seats. Almost like they'd been waiting for the man to show up. Maybe he was some kind of wealthy benefactor. Porthos's fingers tightened around his informational pamphlet. No rich bastard was going to take this away from him.

"Now that everyone is ready, let's begin," said the auctioneer, an unctuous balding man with ridiculously small glasses. "As you all know, we have not followed protocol with this auction, bypassing the bidding buy-in entirely. Sadly, the condition of the property does not lend itself to the excitement of a normal auction."

The other guests nodded, as if bidding in a lighthouse auction was a normal occurrence. Aramis's hand squeezed his own, staving off a wave of anxiety.

"The lighthouse in question was built over a century ago, but it fell into disrepair by the late 1950's, and has been deteriorating ever since. The light no longer functions and the stairs are so badly damaged that reaching the top has become dangerous, among other things. The details of the necessary renovations are included in your pamphlet. The project of repairing it will be extensive. Nevertheless, the lighthouse is a historic monument, and offers truly breathtaking views of the bay. Restored, we believe it could look something like this." He turned and pulled the sheet of a large easel behind him.

Porthos stared, awestruck. He'd seen the dilapidated lighthouse every summer for as long as he could remember, but he'd never imagined it could look like that. His resolve strengthened. Whatever it took, he'd be the one to restore that lighthouse. Only a hall full of rich bidders stood between him and that dream.

"Shall we start the bidding at $10,000?"

Porthos breathed a sigh of relief. They were starting low. That was good. With the amount of damage that would need to be repaired, he was hoping most of the bidders would decide the lighthouse wasn't worth their time.

He sat back for a few minutes, trying to calm his racing nerves. There was no need to jump into the bidding just yet. He searched the crowd instead for the latecomer, and found him slouching in his seat in the front row. Those seats had been reserved, Porthos recalled. He couldn't see his face, but his posture indicated boredom. Good.

"Do I hear $40? $40,000?" the auctioneer called. Porthos raised his card. It was time to start bidding. He could afford to go up to $100,000 if he had to, though he'd have to mortgage the place off and dip into Aramis's savings to do it. He was hoping to fall around $75.

"Excellent, sir, thank you. Do I hear $50?"

Porthos looked around. It seemed the bidders were already growing bored. Few of them seemed interested in paying such a high price for a lighthouse on the verge of collapse.

And then a hand went up.

"$50, thank you sir. Do I hear $60?"

"It's that bastard who came late," Porthos hissed to Aramis, raising his card again to match. The guy still looked bored, as if he couldn't care less what happened to the lighthouse. Porthos wasn't going to lose to him.

To his fury, the stranger bid again, and again, until the bid had reached $100,000. He'd spun around in chair now and was watching Porthos with a bored disinterest in his blue eyes. Porthos read the challenge there. He wasn't going to stop.

Porthos was at a loss. If he bid any further, he'd be seriously depleting Aramis's savings as well as his own. He wasn't sure he could stomach leaving both himself and his lover bankrupt. But Aramis had grabbed the card and raised it himself.

"$150,000!" he called to the auctioneer.

"Well, sir, that is most welcome!" the man cried, nearly falling over with excitement. "Do I hear $160?"

Aramis was glaring at the man in the front row as if daring him to outbid them. Porthos fervently hoped he didn't. They had nothing left to bid.

To his relief, the man dipped his head, conceding defeat. Porthos barely heard the auctioneer declaring them the winners over the rushing in his head. Had they really just spent all their money on a lighthouse that might collapse on their heads at any moment?

"The auctioneer says to meet him in the back in a few minutes." Aramis's voice broke through his stupor. "So we can sign the paperwork."

"What the fuck did we just do?" Porthos asked, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

"We got you your lighthouse," Aramis said fiercely.

"If I could have a word, gentlemen?" a cool voice interrupted. Porthos looked up to find the rich bastard who'd nearly outbid them watching him. Up close, he realized that beneath the somewhat wild beard, he was quite handsome. In a snobby, rich way.

"What do you want?" Porthos asked bluntly. He was too wrung out to be polite.

"I wondered if you'd be interested in a partnership?"

"Partnership?" Porthos repeated numbly.

Aramis was quicker on the uptake. "What kind of partnership?" he asked.

"I'd like to be involved in the renovation of the lighthouse. I'm willing to pay half the auction fee, as well as the renovation costs."

"And what's it gonna cost us?" Porthos asked suspiciously.

"I want my name on the deed as co-owner."

Porthos's immediate response was a vehement refusal, but he hesitated. They needed the money. Without it, it would be year before they'd earn enough to even begin repairs.

"Why?" he asked instead. When the man merely looked confused, he went on, "Why do you care about it?"

"I simply want to see it restored to its original glory."

Something sounded off. "I don't believe you," Porthos challenged. Aramis said "Porthos," very softly under his breath, but otherwise did not stop him.

"Why do you want it?" the man snapped.

Porthos sighed. He didn't have the energy for a lie, so he told the truth. "I used to come to the shore with my mom when I was a kid. She'd tell me stories about that lighthouse. She always wondered what it would be like when it was still working. After she died, I kept coming back every year. I swore I'd fix it up." Aramis leaned into him, offering him silent support.

The man stared at him, as if not expecting such an honest response. "I see," he murmured. He hesitated before he spoke again, as if choosing his words carefully. "My brother liked it," he said at last. "Very much."

He did not elaborate any further, but his tone, and the use of past tense, told Porthos all he needed to know.

"We're plannin' to live there," Porthos said. "You should know that before we go making any agreements."

"I don't mind," the man said quietly. He seemed less arrogant now that he had opened up. "I just want it fixed, and I have the funds to do so. My name on the deed is only insurance."

"Right, then," Porthos said, glancing at Aramis. He nodded, already in agreement. "We'll do it. Partners."

He stuck out his hand, but the man hesitated. "I propose an addendum."

Porthos narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"I pay the whole fee. I don't mean to offend, but I can afford it without batting an eye," he said.

Porthos bristled, but Aramis said quickly, "Deal. We live there and do the work, you pay the fee and half the renovation costs."

The man still hesitated. "I would like to be involved in the repairs," he said softly. "If I may."

"Fine," Porthos said, understanding the need to be part of it. The man took his proffered hand at last. "Now that we're working together, we should know your name."

The man smiled for the first time since they'd seen him. It made him look five years younger. "My name is Athos."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 - “My pottery bowl exploded in the kiln and I feel like a failure, you found me crying about it in the hallway” AU
> 
> This was going to be longer, but my friend came over to play a battle-shots drinking game and I got distracted.
> 
> Tags: Aramis/Athos, hinted Portamis

Aramis checked his watch for the hundredth time. How long was he supposed to leave it in again? He wanted to see how it came out, and he was getting tired of waiting. He was the only one in the art room, so there was no one around to distract him. Even the most dedicated of college students usually went to be earlier than 4 AM.

It couldn't hurt to take a peek at it, could it? This was his first successful pottery project. Everything else had either been misshapen, lopsided, or destroyed in a frustrated rage. But now he'd finally finished something. He was already planning what colors to paint it.

Aramis couldn't wait any longer. The timer was almost done, anyway. He pressed the button to power down the kiln. He forced himself to wait another ten minutes for it to start cooling while he ran around collecting his painting supplies. Then at last it was time.

He pulled the lid up, ignoring the wave of hot air that rushed out of it, and peering inside. At the bottom sat his bowl.

It had shattered.

Aramis felt his stomach plummet as he gazed in at the sad sight. The bowl had cracked into three large sections, with a few smaller pieces scattered around the bottom. It was still too hot to touch, so Aramis couldn't even pull it out and check if it was possible to save it with glue.

He slammed the lid of the kiln back down angrily. He could feel his eyes starting to burn. He'd tried so hard on this one. It was going to be a present for Porthos. And now it was ruined. Like all the others. It wasn't fair.

He stomped out of the room and into the hallway. It was dark at this time of night, and he didn't bother turning the light on. He just sank down against the nearest wall and slumped there, defeated.

He could feel his eyes watering and swiped and angry hand across them. It was stupid to cry over a broken bowl. But he'd wanted so badly for one to come out right. He didn't know how much longer Ninon would keep giving him free rein of the art studio. And now he'd messed up his best chance at finishing a project.

Aramis drew his knees up to his chest. What had he done wrong? Had he opened it too soon? The timer hadn't run its course, but maybe that was it. Or maybe he'd estimated wrong, and put it in for too long?

It didn't matter. It was ruined. He sighed wetly, still fighting tears of frustration and disappointment. Why didn't life ever go his way?

The sound of approaching footsteps just compounded his misery. He was sitting in the hallway crying like a child, and now a security guard was going to find him. Lovely.

He didn't look up as the footsteps slowly approached. They stopped a few feet away.

"Are you alright?" a voice too young to be a security guard asked.

Aramis sniffled and looked up. He felt the color drain from his face as he realized one of the most attractive people he'd ever seen in his life was standing there, watching him with alarm in his blue eyes.

"I'm fine," he muttered. Normally, meeting someone that attractive was an exciting opportunity, but tonight it was just another nail in his coffin.

"Is everything okay?" the speaker tried again. "I saw the light on, and I thought I would investigate. Did something happen?"

His tone was detached, but Aramis could read the honest concern in his eyes.

"I just messed something important up," Aramis said, looking away.

"Ah," the boy said. He hesitated for a moment, and then to Aramis's surprise, slid down to sit on the floor beside him. "Do you want to… talk about it?"

He sounded like he had no idea how to comfort someone, but at this point Aramis would take it. "I was making a pottery bowl," he admitted, toying with the zipper on his jacket. "It broke in the kiln."

"I'm sorry," the boy said quietly, sounding like he meant it. "Can you fix it?"

Aramis just shrugged helplessly.

"Well, why don't we go see?" Before Aramis could respond, the boy was on his feet, offering him a hand up. "I'm Athos, by the way."

"Aramis." He followed Athos back into the studio. "It's over there." He pointed at the kiln that had destroyed his precious bowl.

Athos fumbled with the opening, peering down at the poor smashed object. "Is it cool?" he asked, eyeing the metal kiln.

"It should be," Aramis told him. It had been a while now.

Athos bent over and carefully pulled the shattered fragments free of the kiln. Aramis tried not to stare at his ass while he did so.

"This doesn't look so terrible," Athos said, turning the pieces over in his hands. "I bet we can fix it with some glue. Is there any around?"

An hour and three failed attempts later, they'd managed to piece the bowl back together. The cracks were still visible, but the pieces lay flush with one another, and it sat straight.

Aramis was practically drying from relief and gratitude. "It's fixed," he breathed, lifting the small bowl. "Porthos will love it. Thank you."

Athos shrugged, looking uncomfortable with Aramis's gratitude. "It wasn't a problem," he said gruffly. "I should go, or I'll never get breakfast before class." He darted out the door before Aramis could say a word.

Aramis looked after him, dismayed. He'd hoped Athos would stay and chat. He glanced back at the tiny little bowl, an idea forming in his mind.

The next day Athos opened his door to find a neatly wrapped present sitting on the floor outside. When he opened it, he found the broken bowl, now painted in shades of blue. Inside it was a scrap pf paper with a phone number.

He smiled.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 - celebrity/fan au
> 
> Sorry if this one cuts off rather abruptly, I ran out of steam towards the end.
> 
> Tags: Portamis, Porthos/Athos, referenced Fleanon

"Do you see him yet?" Porthos asked, craning his neck to see over the crowd. There was no flurry of activity near the door yet, but Porthos wasn't going to take any chances.

"No, and stop acting like a love-struck teenager," Flea muttered, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not," he replied, sending a glare her way. She ignored him in favor of scoping out the crowd. Her gaze lingered on an attractive blonde reporter standing in the press area. "This is important to me, Flea."

"Yeah, I know," Flea sighed. "It's just, why's your favorite character gotta be the one played by the Hollywood heartthrob? How old is this actor, anyway? He's not some kid, is he?"

Porthos frowned. "He's the same age as me."

Flea gave him a pointed look. "What, have you read the biography of this guy's life?"

"No," Porthos snapped. "Just his Wikipedia page. And his IMDb profile."

"You do know stalking is wrong?" Flea asked sarcastically.

"I'm not stalking him! I just want to meet him so I can tell him I think he's amazingly talented," Porthos said.

"And gorgeous," Flea added wickedly. "Go on, tell him that too, I dare you."

Porthos's only reply was a stony glare. Flea shrugged. "Okay, dropping it. I'm gonna go over and chat with that pretty lady," she said, pointing to the reporter she'd been eyeing. "Good luck with your imaginary boyfriend."

Porthos rolled his eyes but didn't bother to correct her. She was incorrigible anyway. He glanced at his watch, noticing a couple other people in the crowd doing the same thing. The Q and A had ended a while ago, and they were all milling around the stage, waiting for Aramis d'Herblay to reappear. Porthos had been so far back during the Q and A that he'd barely gotten a glimpse of any of the actors, which was why he wanted so badly to meet him now.

Aramis d'Herblay, who went by just Aramis in the media, was one of the stars of a terrible daytime drama that Porthos had watched religiously for nearly fifteen years. He remembered watching it with his mother when he was younger every chance he got, and after she died, he continued watching it in her memory. Before long, he was hooked. Aramis had only joined the show in the last year, but he was already a fan favorite. Porthos loved his character, which was why he'd dragged Flea along to this event.

A few people came out through the exit at the side of the stage. He peered hopefully in their direction, but Aramis wasn't among them. He frowned when he realized none of the actors were among them. They were saying something to the assembled group, but he was too far away to hear what it was.

"What's going on?" he asked a lady in front of him.

She was frowning when she looked back at him. "Apparently the actors aren't coming out at all," she said, sounding disappointed. "Something about a change in shooting time tomorrow, so they're all heading out early."

Porthos rocked back, disappointment sitting heavy in his stomach. He knew it was silly to be so upset when there had always been a good chance Aramis wouldn't come out, but it still sucked. He looked around for Flea and found her happily chatting up the reporter. With a sigh, he turned away, heading for the small bar he'd seen next door. He'd text her where he'd gone, but he figured she'd be busy for a while.

The bar was almost empty. A few people were sitting in booths, and a solitary man was drinking at the counter. He didn't look around when Porthos entered.

"Can I get a beer?" Porthos asked the bartender. "No, wait, shit," he muttered when he reached for his wallet and it wasn't there. He'd forgotten that he stuck it in Flea's purse for safekeeping. "Forget it," he told the bartender.

"I'll get it," said the other man at the bar, looking over at last. He was scruffy, but in a suave, stylish way. His blue eyes studied Porthos with veiled interest.

"Thanks," Porthos muttered, accepting the beer. He wasn't one for charity, but a handsome stranger buying him a drink was perhaps the only way of turning this night around. He'd take it.

He grabbed the beer and moved down the bar to sit next to the man, who gave him a half-smile. The interest in his gaze was more pronounced up close. Porthos found himself sitting up straighter to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders. After a quick introduction, he learned the man's name was Athos, and he was waiting here for a friend.

"What brings you here?" he asked Porthos, swirling his whiskey in the glass.

"I was at that TV thing next door," Porthos admitted.

"Oh yeah, I saw that. You're a fan?"

Porthos shrugged. "Yeah. I wanted to meet one of the actors, but they didn't end up coming out."

"That's a shame," Athos said, an unreadable expression on his face. "Would I know them?"

"His name's Aramis, he plays my favorite character," Porthos told him.

A small smile played about Athos's face. He nodded as if making a decision. "I might be able to help you there," he said, looking at Porthos thoughtfully. "It's a bit irregular, but I don't think he'll mind."

"Who?"

"Aramis." Athos smirked when Porthos gaped at him. "I'm his manager, you see. Or his boyfriend, depending on you ask. If you stick around, he'll be here in half an hour."

Porthos's brain was having trouble processing the fact that Aramis was coming here, but he did have time to be disappointed that Athos wasn't single. Then his brain caught up with the offer.

"You'd introduce me?" he asked hopefully.

"Why not?" Athos said. "I think he'll really like you." The way his eyes travelled down Porthos's body had him choking on his drink.

His night had just gotten _so much_ better.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 17 - doctor/companion au
> 
> Yeah, yeah, my first though was Richelieu too, but then Ninon decided to pop in an take things over. Not that I'm complaining.
> 
> Tags: Fleanon

Flea swore under her breath when she counted out the coins her in purse and came up short. "Hang on, sorry," she muttered to the barista, who was givin her a sympathetic look. The people behind her in line were starting to grumble under their breath. "I know I've got another quarter in here somewhere."

"I'll get it," a voice said behind her. The grumbling of the line increased as the speaker shoved through them. Flea turned around to tell them exactly where they could stick their charity and found herself facing a gorgeous woman with curly blond hair. Her smile was somehow both smug and secretive as she pulled out an odd looking coin. It was blue.

"I can't take that," the barista said, looking nervous.

The woman pulled out what looked like a small leather wallet. She flipped it open. Inside was a blank sheet of paper, which she showed the barista. His face changed instantly, and he held out a hand for the coin.

She passed it over, still smiling faintly. He took it and bowed. Well, nodded his head, really, but in a very respectful manner, like a lord nodding to a regent. Flea eyed him suspiciously, but he seemed willing to take the strange coin, so she decided to let it go. She didn't normally let strangers buy anything for her, but this woman was exceptionally beautiful. Flea could let the normal rules slide.

"Thanks," she said, following the woman down the counter to wait for her coffee. "I'm Flea."

"I'm…" The woman hesitated, as if she'd forgotten her own name. "Let's go with Ninon. That sounds pretty."

"Okay," Flea said slowly, wondering if the woman was mad. Why must the pretty ones always have something wrong with them? She decided to try a different tactic. "Uh, why was your piece of paper blank?"

"What?" Ninon asked. The smug smile faded, her blue eyes narrowing at Flea as if she'd just said something entirely unexpected.

"Your paper," Flea said patiently, taking her coffee from the barista. She blew on it to cool it down and headed for the door. "The one in there," she added, pointing at the woman's coat, where she'd pulled the strange wallet from.

"Oh, that. It's not blank," Ninon said quickly. Flea raised an eyebrow. "No, it must have been a trick of the light."

She was a truly abysmal liar.

"Of course," Flea agreed, pulling the door open for her. They brushed against one another as they left. "And what about that coin? It was blue."

Ninon studied her intently, as if trying to decide how much to say. When she finally spoke, it was not what Flea expected.

"Your barista is an alien."

Flea groaned. It figured. "Is that why the coffee is so good?" she asked.

The blonde woman blinked, as if that wasn't the response she'd expected. "Aren't you… concerned?"

Flea shrugged, sipping her coffee. "Nah. I grew up on the streets. I've seen a lot of weird things in my time. Like that blue police box that pops up in random places."

There it was. Ninon tensed up, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "That sounds very strange," she said. "Well, I should be going."

"See ya," Flea called, waving after her. As soon as she was out of sight, Flea dropped down on a bench to wait. She'd be back.

Sure enough, not ten minutes later, Ninon came darting around the corner. "Looking for this?" Flea asked, waving the little wallet at her. "It is blank, by that way. Not sure why you bothered lying."

'Yes, well," Ninon said as she snatched the wallet back, looking flustered. "A magician mustn't reveal all her tricks."

"Except you're not a magician," Flea said, staring her down. She wouldn't be put off again. "Are you?"

Ninon didn't answer. "That blue box means something to you, doesn't it?" Flea went on. "I wanna know. I've seen it around my whole life. I've got some questions."

"You may not like the answers," Ninon said softly.

"You said the barista was an alien?" Flea asked, refusing to be deterred. "You meant an extraterrestrial right, not a foreigner?"

Ninon's eyes narrowed. "You already know the answer to that question!" she said accusingly.

Flea grinned. "Yeah, he said good morning to me once, but he said it in two voices." That had been a weird day. Flea had spent hours trying to convince herself she wasn't crazy. Then she'd seen that damn blue box again on the corner. She'd tried to get into it for the first time that day, but it was always locked.

Ninon muttered something under her breath that sounded like gibberish. "That the planet he's from?" Fleas asked, grinning cheekily.

"You're awfully calm about all this," Ninon said suspiciously.

"It's a big universe, ain't it?" Flea asked, shrugging. "Stands to reason there's something else out there."

"Okay," Ninon said suddenly. "Come with me." She strode back down the street, not waiting to see if Flea was following. Flea had to run to catch up.

"Where are we going then?" Flea called after her.

"I was thinking France," Ninon said, turning down an alley. "17th century, perhaps? Or later? Meet Louis XIV?"

"What?" Flea asked, struggling to keep up.

"Or we could planet hop a while, see what Earth becomes a few hundred years down the line," Ninon said thoughtfully.

"How would we do that?" Ninon didn't even need to answer her question. At the end of the alley was the blue police box. Flea gasped aloud.

"All of time and space, _ma chérie_ ," Ninon said, winking.

"Is it a spaceship, Ninon?" Flea asked breathlessly. This, this was what she'd been waiting her whole life for. A chance to see something new. Porthos would understand.

"Something like that," Ninon said. "And my name's the Doctor, actually. But you can use Ninon if you like." She pulled the door of the box open. It looked much bigger inside.

"Where would you like to go?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 - two extras have to sit across from each other and pretend to converse at a restaurant on the set of a movie. but the fake conversation turns to real conversation and they are really into each other and the director calls cut because they are distracting from the actual characters who are supposed to be the ones making eyes and looking like they’re falling in love, not a couple of random extras
> 
> Tags: Portamis, plain and simple. These two always get into trouble

Aramis wandered across the set, taking in the sights. Three times he'd been mistaken for an actual actor. He wasn't in a hurry to correct that assumption. He just winked at anyone who asked what role he was playing and sauntered off before they realized he was just an extra.

Finally, he saw the set for the restaurant scene. The lady this morning told him that's where he should be during shooting. He could see a group of similarly lost looking people gathered around a harried assistant director, so he joined them.

"All we need from this scene is some believable background characters," the woman told the group. "So arrange yourselves at tables and make like you're having a nice conversation, okay?"  
"Should we actually talk?" one man called out.

"Yes, that would be best," the woman said, waving them all forward onto the set. "Keep your voices low so you don't get picked up by the mikes, but you need to talk with your table mates. It'll look more believable that way."

Aramis was about to go choose a table when she grabbed his arm. "Actually, you come with me." She led him over to a table just behind the one in front. He assumed the actors would be sitting there. "You're attractive, so we'll put you in shot. Let me find a partner for you."

She vanished back into the crowd of extras. Aramis leaned back in the chair, surveying the nearby table with pleasure. He'd actually be in the background, then. Good.

The woman reemerged a few minutes later, dragging a man behind her. He towered over her by at least a foot. Aramis eyed the tight t-shirt appreciatively. The guy was impressively muscular. He smiled at Aramis as he sat down, and Aramis got the impression he wasn't the only one doing some looking.

"Right, you two just start chatting. The scene will start rolling an about two minutes. Just don't look around and try not to talk too loud, okay?" the woman said. She walked away without waiting for an answer.

Aramis glanced over at his new companion once she'd gone. "So," he said, lounging back in his chair. "It seems we're the two most attractive people here."

His companion grinned. "Well, she ain't wrong. I'm Porthos." He leaned across the table to offer Aramis his hand.

"Aramis. What brought you here?" he asked.

Porthos shrugged. "Saw the signs, thought it sounded kinda cool."

"So you don't want to be an actor?" Aramis asked, eyeing him. With a build like that, Porthos could be an action hero. He could rescue Aramis any time.

"Nah, just wanted to see what a real movie set was like," Porthos said, grinning like he guessed where Aramis's mind had just gone. "What about you?"

"I'm the classic story," Aramis sighed dramatically. "Down on his luck actor trying to make it big."

"Really?" Porthos asked, looking impressed.

Aramis laughed. "No. I'm a designer. My company provided a few of the costumes, so I came to make sure they fit right. They didn't kick me out, so I figured I'd try my luck at being an extra." He shrugged. "I always wanted to be in a movie."

The director had called action while he'd been talking, but he hadn't noticed. Part of him wanted to look over and see the real actors not ten feet away, but a bigger part wanted to keep staring at Porthos's face. "What do you do?" he asked, conscious that he had to keep talking or they'd ruin the shot.

"Private security," Porthos said. Aramis wondered if he'd received the scar over his eye in a fight. It suddenly seemed a lot sexier.

"Oh yeah? You protect movie stars and stuff?" Aramis asked, leaning forward onto the table. Porthos mirrored his pose.

"Sometimes. Mostly just transportation and stuff. S'a good job."

"Do you have a uniform?" Aramis asked, interest flaring. He'd always had a thing for a man in uniform.

"Oh yeah," Porthos said, laughing. "With a badge and a gun and everything."

Aramis's brain immediately conjured images of Porthos with a gun in his hand. The room felt warmer. "They're kind of uncomfortable, though," Porthos went on, frowning slightly. "Whoever designed 'em was shit."

Aramis brain was working overtime now. "Maybe I could throw together some designs," he offered. He'd take any excuse to see Porthos again after this.

He didn't seem to be alone in that opinion. "I'd like that," Porthos said, grinning at him. "Maybe we could discuss it some more over a coffee after this wraps up."

"I'd like that," Aramis murmured. He was so busy smiling foolishly at Porthos that he didn't notice at first that the shoot had stalled around them.

"Cut, cut!" the director shouted. Aramis looked around to find everyone on the crew was watching them. The other extras were gazing around in confusion.

The assistant director came jogging over to their table, now more harried than ever. "I'm gonna need you boys to leave the set," she said apologetically.

"What? Why?" Aramis asked, frowning.

"Boss says you look too cute in the background. It's distracting from the actors who are supposed to be falling in love," she explained. Faint amusement glinted in her eyes. "Sorry, but we're gonna have to replace ya."

Porthos met his eye across the table and shrugged. "Coffee, then?" he asked, starting to grin.

Aramis grinned back. That just might make up for not being in the movie. "Alright."

The assistant director smiled triumphantly as she led them off the stage. "You're going on a date? Ha! I won! Owen owes me twenty bucks."

She left them on the edge of the set and went back to fill the gap they'd left. Porthos looked over at him. "Where do you wanna get coffee?"

"Actually," Aramis said, trying not to sound too eager. "I know where there's a supply closet no one ever goes to…"

Porthos grinned. "Make out first, then coffee," he agreed.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 19 - “this is totally awkward considering before this the only interactions we’ve ever had have been casual nods to each other in the hallway but there’s a huge fucking spider in my bath tub and you seem like the friendly neighbor type please help me” au
> 
> Tags: Athamis, Aramis being the damsel in distress, Athos being a badass (but not really)

Athos flipped idly through the channels, searching for something to watch. His Blu-ray player was refusing to hook up to Netflix, so he was stuck with regular programming. It was dreadful.

He finally landed on some sort of nature documentary about sharks. The narrator's voice was soothing, so he decided to leave it on. Besides, he'd always had something of a soft spot for sharks, ever since he was a child combing the beach for shark teeth. The thought of something lurking in the water had never frightened him.

A strange thumping noise came through the wall from the room next to his. He frowned. It sounded like someone had just fallen over rather heavily. He wondered if he ought to go check on his neighbor. A moment later he heard a door close and relaxed. If his neighbor was mobile, he was probably fine.

He turned his attention back to the show. Just when he was finally getting a good glimpse pf the shark in question, another loud thud came through the wall, followed by several softer ones. It sounded like the man was beating the wall with something.

Athos glowered at the wall and turned the TV up louder. Abruptly the thumping stopped. Maybe his neighbor had finally remembered that it was late and other people were trying to enjoy their evenings.

The knock on his door was completely unexpected. He jolted out of the chair, glaring down the hallway. Had the man come to apologize?

With a sigh, he got up, pausing the program so he wouldn't miss the footage of the great white, and went to the door. He pulled it open to find his next door neighbor standing in the doorway, looking nervous.

Athos took a deep breath, trying to remember the man's name. For the most part, he did not think about his neighbor, mostly because his neighbor was so attractive that Athos sometimes felt blinded in his presence. Better to keep him off his mind.

"Hello, Aramis," he said, remembering the name at last. "Did you need something?" He refrained from adding _at this hour_ with difficulty.

"I'm sorry to bother you but there's a monster in my bathtub!" Aramis exclaimed, the words leaving him so quickly that Athos had trouble interpreting them.

"There's a what?" he asked doubtfully. Was the man high?

"A giant spider!" Aramis wailed desperately. "Please, can you help me kill it?"

"Is that what all that thumping was?" Athos asked. He was relieved to know Aramis hadn't been hurt, but it seemed an overreaction for a spider.

"Yes," Aramis said miserably. He was hunched over in the hallway. Not showing any of his usual confidence. "Please come kill it."

"Why are you asking me?" Athos asked, genuinely baffled.

"You seem nice," Aramis said at once. "Like you'd actually say yes and not just leave me to deal with it on my own."

Athos sighed. Now he really couldn't refuse. And it was only a spider, after all. If it would set Aramis's mind at ease, he supposed he could afford to hunt it down.

"Alright," he said heavily. "Lead the way."

Aramis brightened. "Follow me," he said, leading the way back to his apartment and down the short hallway to the bathroom. Athos noticed hesitation creeping in as they got closer. By the time they reached the closed door, Aramis was behind him, peering fearfully at the walls and ceiling.

"Where was it, exactly?" Athos asked, opening the bathroom door. He couldn't see anything from here.

"In the tub," Aramis whispered, pointing at the ancient bathtub sitting against the wall. "It's probably still there. Waiting."

"Do you have a newspaper or a magazine to kill it with?" Athos asked. He wasn't afraid of spiders, but there was no point going closer until he had a weapon. He thought wistfully of his shark program, still waiting for him in his apartment. He wanted to get this over with.

Aramis nodded. A moment later he passed Athos a shoe. Athos raised an eyebrow at the makeshift weapon but said nothing. "Stay here. I'll take care of it," he told Aramis. Aramis shrank back into the hallway as Athos stepped forward, peering into the bathtub.

At first, he didn't see anything. The tub appeared empty. He peered behind the shampoo bottles on the side, but still nothing. There was no spider on the shower curtain, or on the floor around the tub. He was beginning to wonder if this spider was extraordinarily tiny, or perhaps imaginary, when he glanced over at the drain.

He leapt back from the tub with a strangled shout, not caring how undignified it must look to Aramis. He had to get away from the tub. A long, hairy leg had been poking out from the darkness within the drain.

His shout startled Aramis, who fled down the hallway to the living room. Athos followed, slamming the bathroom door shut behind him. Hopefully that kept it from escaping.

"Is that a fucking tarantula?" he asked, his heart pounding frantically in his chest. His usual aversion to swears was lost in the face of his shock. "What the fuck is that doing here?"

"I don't know!" Aramis cried. He'd hopped up onto a kitchen chair, probably to get his feet off the ground. Athos was a heartbeat away from doing the same thing, but the last remnants of his pride were keeping him from it. "Maybe it escaped from a zoo or something! What are we going to do?"

His wide brown eyes stared beseechingly at Athos, and he realized he was going to have to solve this problem. "I don't know," he muttered, giving in and climbing onto a chair as well. "We could try to wash it down?"

"You want to get close enough to it to try that?" Aramis asked.

Athos blanched "No, not really. And I'm guessing whatever you tried earlier was totally ineffective?"

"I went after it with a shoe," Aramis admitted, wincing. "But it kept moving, and I was way too scared to get close enough."

"We're going to need a different tactic then," Athos said. For a moment his brain told him to just invite Aramis back to his apartment for the night. They could watch the shark program together. But while that would be enjoyable, it wouldn't exactly solve the problem.

"I have an idea," he said at last.

Twenty minutes later, they crept back into Aramis's apartment, heading for the bathroom. The landlord had not appreciated being bothered at this time of night, but he'd grudgingly given them what they needed when Athos fixed him with a cold stare.

They padded down the hallway and reached the bathroom door. Athos clutched their new weapon and nodded for Aramis to open the door. Aramis flung it open and ducked behind him, obviously willing to use Athos as a human shield if necessary.

Athos looked down and felt his heart stop.

The spider was in the middle of the bathroom floor.

It was as big around as Athos's palm, dark brown and furry. When the door opened, it scuttled toward them, it's too large body moving in a way that made Athos's stomach lurch. Aramis shrieked and sprinted for the safety of the kitchen, but Athos stood firm and lifted his hand. With a growled expletive, he unloaded the entire can of Raid onto the spider.

And then, because he wasn't totally sure it would work, he slammed the door shut again, trapping the twitching thing in the bathroom.

He walked shakily down the hallway and dropped onto the couch beside Aramis. "Do you think it worked?" Aramis asked. He still had he feet folded up away from the floor, as if expecting the spider to come crawling out after them any minute.

"We can check in half an hour," Athos said, willing his heart to slow down. Raid was supposed to work fast, but he didn't want to take any chances. He'd let the spider sit in the poisonous cloud for as long as possible.

"How about a drink while we wait?" Aramis asked. There was something decidedly sly in his voice now that he'd calmed down. Athos looked up to find him watching him with interest in his dark brown eyes. "I have all the programs from Shark Week still recorded. We can put one on until it's time to check the bathroom."

"I suppose one drink couldn't hurt," Athos replied, hoping he didn't sound too eager. He didn't care what they watched anymore, as long as he watched it with Aramis.

Two bottles of wine later, Aramis had fallen asleep on the couch, pressed against Athos's chest. His dark hair tickled Athos's chin, but he wouldn't have moved him for anything. Athos tipped his head back against the cushions and closed his eyes. They could worry about the spider in the morning.

Hopefully neither of them had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 - “I just got turned into an incubus or a succubus and I’m like the least smooth and most self-conscious person on the planet so I’m literally starving because I don’t know how to seduce people” AU. BONUS POINTS IF THEY ARE A VIRGIN. 
> 
> Another long one for you today!
> 
> Tags: Athos/Porthos, Athos/Aramis, Aramis/Porthos, OT3

"I feel like an idiot."

"Nonsense, you look magnificent," Aramis said, tugging on his collar. "You'll do fine."

"I don't want to do this again," Athos muttered mutinously.

Aramis gave him a dark look. "I know you didn't want to be an incubus, but we don't get to choose what we're cursed with," he said sternly. "At least you're not a werewolf. You don't have to deal with turning every full moon."

"At least then I could eat people," Athos groused.

"More likely you'd wind up eating raw venison and get food poisoning," Aramis said. "No, you're much better off like this. No nasty side effects."

"Except the whole having to sleep with people to survive thing," Athos said sarcastically.

"Trust me, _mon cher_ , an incubus is the best thing to be. You'll enjoy it."

"I don't see why I can't just sleep with you," Athos said, tugging at the sleeves of the ridiculously tight shirt. He tried to ignore the flush that crept up his cheeks. Aramis didn't seem to have any idea how willing Athos would be to bed _him_ instead.

"It has to be a human," Aramis said. "If we slept together, it wouldn't keep either of us alive. Though it would be enjoyable, I'm sure," he added, winking outrageously.

Athos snorted, allowing Aramis to steer him out of the room. "Your best bet would be to find a steady partner," Aramis told him, directing him toward the lower level of the hotel they were staying in for Athos's 'initiation.' "Remember, you'll be draining some of their energy every time, so they'll need to be fit and active to keep around on a permanent basis."

They reached the lower level at last. In these rooms were all those who had volunteered to become the partner of a succubus or incubus. Aramis said it used to be far less civilized, but the days of sneaking into people's beds uninvited were long past. Now, they had what amounted to a dating service. Athos knew everyone in these rooms had been chosen for him by Aramis, in the hopes that he would find one he liked.

It was like speed dating for life-draining demons.

This was going to be hell.

They'd already tried this twice. Both times Athos had proven to be so horrifically bad at _seducing_ people that he hadn't managed to even make physical contact with any of them yet. Aramis was blessedly unaware of his, ah, inexperience, and he wanted to keep it that way.

"I think this one will be a good fit," Aramis said, stopping outside a door at the end of the hall. "He's just your type. His name is Porthos."

He shoved Athos through the door before he had a chance to ask when Aramis had figured out he'd much prefer a man to a woman. The door was tugged shut behind him before he could flee.

"Hello?" he called awkwardly into the room. He didn't see its occupant anywhere. "Porthos?"

"Oh, there you are," a pleasantly deep voice said. A moment later the speaker stepped into view from the connected bathroom.

Athos felt as if his entire body had gone red. The man was wearing only a towel, slung low around his hips. Water droplets still glimmered on his chest.

Aramis had _planned_ this.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll, ah, come back later," Athos mumbled, backpedaling frantically toward the door. He hadn't expected to be so instantly attracted to this man. He was not prepared for this sort of onslaught.

Porthos grinned, leaning against the wall. He wasn't even holding the edge of the towel. What if it slipped down? "Wouldn't that kind of defeat the purpose?" he asked, eyes gleaming wickedly.

"What?" Athos asked blankly. His wits had utterly deserted him once again. Why must he be so absolutely awful at this?

"Well, aren't you here to seduce me?" Porthos asked, still grinning. "Don't see how you're gonna do that if you leave."

"I really think I should go," Athos said desperately, acutely aware that he was wearing the too-tight clothing Aramis had dressed him in. His body was starting to get interested despite his brain's protests.

This thought didn't seem to be lost on Porthos. "Hey, it's okay," he said, face softening. "We don't have to jump right to it." His grin returned a heartbeat later. "Unless you want to, of course."

"I'm just a bit new to all this," Athos confessed, feeling his face redden. This was so humiliating.

Porthos didn't laugh like Athos had expected him to. "Yeah, Aramis said you might be," he said. "We can take it slow. Why don't you go sit down on the couch? I'll get changed and we can have a bottle of wine."

Athos nodded a bit shakily and went into the living room. None of the others had offered anything like this: a chance to get his bearings. They'd practically thrown themselves on him, and he'd reacted by fleeing the room.

Porthos emerged a few minutes later, now wearing a sinfully tight t-shirt and black jeans. He had two bottles of wine in his hands.

"Wasn't sure if you'd want red or white," he said, setting them on the table and grabbing glasses from a nearby cabinet. "So I brought both."

"I prefer red," Athos murmured.

Porthos gave him a lopsided smile. "Me too." He opened the red and poured two glasses. "I know you really oughta give it time to breathe, but you look like you could use it now," he said, passing Athos a glass.

Athos took it gratefully, taking a deep sip of the wine. It was an excellent vintage. "Thank you," he said, leaning back against the couch. Porthos sat on the couch as well, but Athos noticed that he left a bit of space between them. He felt another surge of gratitude.

"So how'd you get like this?" Porthos asked, sipping his wine.

Athos shrugged. "It's a long story," he said, not eager to spill the details of his transformation.

Porthos accepted the deflection with grace. "And is this… have you done this before?" he asked, obviously trying to put it delicately.

Athos winced. "No."

"None of it?" Porthos asked. He sounded like he didn't fully believe him.

"I haven't had sex before," Athos snapped, tired of dancing around the issue.

"Not even as a human?"

"No."

Porthos whistled under his breath. "That's hard to believe. I mean, look at you."

"What about me?" Athos asked, annoyed.

"Well, you're one of the most attractive people I've ever seen," Porthos said bluntly. Athos flushed again when he realized Porthos meant it. "What, hasn't Aramis told you that?"

"Aramis tells that to everyone," Athos muttered.

Porthos chuckled. "No, babe, he doesn't." He grabbed the bottle and refilled Athos's glass, scooting a little closer along the couch as he did so.

"So, what did you do before all this?" he asked. Before Athos quite knew what happened, they fell into a lengthy discussion about their jobs and their lives. He learned Porthos was a painter, had two foster sisters that he was very close to, and three dogs. They wound up talking for long enough that they finished both bottles of wine Porthos had brought over. Only when they ran out did Athos notice Porthos was now pressed up against his side, and his head was half resting on Porthos's shoulder.

"This is nice," he said spontaneously.

Porthos chuckled. "Yeah? You wanna try something else?" The wicked glint was back in his eye, but Athos saw the playfulness beneath it now.

He gave Porthos his best dark smile. "Try me."

He found himself pressed back against the cushions, Porthos straddling his waist. Conscious thought vanished for a while, driven out by the taste of wine on Porthos's lips. Only the sound of the door opening pulled him from the delightful reverie.

He looked over to find Aramis standing in the hallway, watching them with an enormous grin. "I knew you'd like him!" he exclaimed.

Porthos chuckled above him but did not leave his position. "You wanna join us?" he asked.

"I think Athos ought to have you to himself," Aramis laughed.

Athos thought his brain might explode with the image of both of them at once. "You're welcome to join," he croaked. He caught the look Aramis gave Porthos and in a flash of insight added, "He is your partner, after all."

Aramis and Porthos laughed. "I didn't think you would notice," Aramis admitted. "You didn't like any of the others. I figured Porthos is impossible not to like."

"You were right," Athos said. If he'd known before, it would have intimidated him. Now, it simply meant he could have them both if he wanted to.

"And the best thing about Porthos," Aramis said, sauntering down the hallway toward them with a wicked smile. "He has enough energy for the both of us."

Athos laughed, joy and relief making him dizzy. He hadn't found a partner: he'd found two.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 - bffs when they were little but one moved away and they run into each other again AU
> 
> Tags: Trevillieu, because why not?

Treville dropped his bags in the hallway and leaned against the wall with a sigh, surveying his new domain. The house was dark and far too empty; nothing like it had been all those years ago when he'd been a little boy. He flicked a light on, but it did nothing to alleviate the sensation that something was missing. His parents had always dreamed of having enough money to move back into this place. They weren't around anymore, but Treville felt duty-bound to fulfill the wish in their honor.

He'd had his furniture moved in last week before he arrived, and he'd hired a decorator to find places for it. He could rearrange if he felt like it, but it was easier to move in and have most of the hard stuff taken care of. It wasn't like he couldn't afford to hire people to do things like that, after all. Business had been good. He could've bought a house twice this size if he'd wanted to. But this one was special.

He wandered into the kitchen and searched the cupboards for the glasses. It would take him a while to figure out where everything was. Locating one at last, he went to the sink to fill it up. As he sipped the cool water, he glanced out the window to the house next door. A silver haired man was sitting on the back deck, smoking a cigar under the porch light. Treville noticed he was watching the house with interest. Probably curious about the new neighbor. Treville was glad he hadn't turned the kitchen light on, or the man would be able to see him through the window.

Well, he would have to stay curious for a while. Treville wasn't exactly the social type. He wouldn't be knocking on any doors to introduce himself.

It was odd to see a stranger sitting outside that house. When he'd lived here as a child, the Richelieu's had lived next door. He smiled a little at the memory. He'd been very good friends with Armand Richelieu when they were boys. He sincerely regretted that they'd lost touch after his father lost his job and they'd had to move away. He didn't even know where Armand was now.

He shook off the nostalgia and went upstairs. His things had been moved into the old master bedroom. It felt strange to sleep there, but he couldn't take his childhood room at his age. Reminding himself that this was his room now, he climbed into bed. It took a long time to fall asleep.

When he woke the next morning, he skipped breakfast and set about the business of rearranging the furniture to his taste. The decorator had done a fine job, but he found himself pulling a few choice pieces to different rooms. Around noon, he realized he had no food in the house and left to get groceries from the small store down the road.

There was a car in the driveway next-door when he got home. He raised an eyebrow at it, thinking wryly that it would have been just the kind of car a young Armand would have loved. Flashy lines, shiny black paint job, what appeared to be custom rims. They used to play in that driveway with matchbox cars and dream of the ones they'd drive one day.

It wasn't until Treville had finished unpacking his groceries that the thought struck him. Perhaps his neighbor might know where Armand's family was now. He had no idea when they'd moved away, but if this man had bought the house, he might know where they'd gone. Maybe Treville could track down his old friend.

The thought made him pause. It wasn't stalking, was it, to hunt down a childhood playmate? What if the man thought he was strange, and there was tension between them forever? Treville had no wish to antagonize his neighbor. But he really did want to know.

Without giving himself time to second guess the decision, he marched out of the house and up to the door, knocking sharply. It opened to reveal his neighbor, who looked momentarily surprised to see him.

"Sorry to bother you," Treville said gruffly. "But I was just wondering if you knew what happened to the family that used to live here?"

The man stared at him. Treville realized that probably sounded rude. He hadn't even introduced himself. But before he could fix the blunder, the man spoke. "Why do you want to know?" he asked. His voice sounded strangely familiar. Blue eyes narrowed suspiciously at Treville.

"I used to know their son," Treville said, feeling rather uncomfortable. "I was hoping to get in touch with him again. Do you know where I might find them?"

To his surprise, the man broke into a smile. "You've found him."

Treville stared, trying to wrap his head around the news. "Armand?" he asked blankly.

"Most people around here call me Richelieu, but I suppose I can still be Armand to you. Well, don't just stand there, Jean, come in," Richelieu said, waving Treville inside. He followed, feeling somewhat stunned by the unexpected turn of events.

"I thought it might be you," Richelieu said, leading the way to a handsomely appointed kitchen. "I saw you arrive last night. I've never seen anyone else look so thoroughly unapproachable. You're lucky the rest of the neighborhood didn't see you. They'd likely label you a disturber of the peace. Brandy?"

"Yes," Treville said, sinking into a chair at the table. "I didn't think you'd still be here. You always said you'd be rich and successful."

"I think at the time I said I wanted to be king of the galaxy and live in a castle on the moon," Richelieu chortled, passing him a glass. It was extraordinarily aged. "I never left the area. My family owns a great deal of property in town, you remember. I built a few business complexes, sold all but one, and now run the largest conglomerate in town. What about you? What have you done with your life? Did you ever learn to speak shark and move to Atlantis?"

"You have a good memory," Treville said, laughing. He raised a hand to stroke his beard. He noticed that Richelieu's eyes darted down to his hand as he moved, as if checking for something. He did the same. No wedding ring. So the other man wasn't married either. He didn't know why, but that thought pleased him immensely. "I ran a private security company since I got out of college," he said gruffly. "Trained up a successor and left it to him when he was ready. I moved back here for my retirement."

"No family?" Richelieu asked. Treville got the distinct impression he was testing the waters. He found he didn't mind. In fact, he was going to do the same thing. He was getting the feeling that his childhood crush might not have worn off after all.

"No," he said, "But the officers I work with all but adopted me as their dad, so between them and their partners I've got a platoon of children. They'll probably show up en masse soon enough, shouting about 'house-warming parties,' and the peace really will be disturbed. What about you? You have family?"

"No, I never found time," Richelieu sighed, looking somewhat wistful.

"You can have half of mine," Treville grunted. He flushed when he realized what that might sound like. But he didn't take it back.

Richelieu laughed. "Maybe I will," he murmured. He looked like he wanted to say more, but his phone suddenly chimed on the counter. "Shit, I've got a meeting," he muttered. "I've got to run."

"Oh, right," Treville said, standing uncertainly. What did they do now? Should he ask to see him again? He followed Richelieu to the door, still trying to think of what to say.

Thankfully, Richelieu took control of the situation. "I insist you have dinner with me tonight," he said, stepping out onto the front porch. "So we can continue to catch up. Much has changed around here since you left. I'll fill you in on all the juicy details. My treat. There's a lovely little French place in the ground floor of one of my buildings. Shall we say eight?"

"Alright," Treville agreed, feeling dazed by it all. He couldn't deny a certain giddiness in his stomach, something he hadn't felt since he was a kid following Armand around on the playground.

Richelieu smiled warmly at him as he locked the door. "Until tonight, then," he said. Something like a promise was laden in the words. And then he was gone, the fancy car gliding silently down the road.

Treville looked after him for a long time. He finally turned back to his own house, realizing with some amusement he was still clutching the brandy. He smiled to himself as he sipped it. Richelieu had excellent taste.

He found he was rather looking forward to dinner.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 - “I really didn’t want to come out to this bar/club/coffee place but oh hey there at least the scenery is nice how you doin’.”
> 
> Tags: Constagnan, Fleanon, OT3, all that good stuff

"You know I don't like clubs," Constance grumbled. Clothes continued to rain down on her bed as Flea raided her closet. Apparently her complaint was going to be ignored.

"Ninon says this one's great!" Flea said enthusiastically, tossing Constance's shortest black dress onto the bed. "Wear this one."

Constance groaned. Of course Ninon had suggested it. Ever since Flea and Ninon started dating, she'd been dragged along to all sorts of strange places. Flea said she liked Ninon so much that she was afraid to be alone with her in case she messed it up, so Constance had to go along as a sort of awkward chaperone.

"Ninon said her friends will be there too!" Flea said, pulling out Constance's red dress. Constance hadn't worn it since college. She held it up against herself, nodding in satisfaction, before looking over, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Maybe there will be a cute boy."

Constance ignored the jab at her nonexistent love life. "I don't need a boy," she snapped, giving it at last and changing into the black dress. It did look the best on her. "I'm perfectly happy as I am."

It was true: she didn't need a man to feel complete. But sometimes, watching how happy Flea and Ninon were, she wanted someone.

But she really doubted she would meet the kind of person she was looking for tonight. Still, it wouldn't hurt to look her best.

It took them both a good half hour to get ready, but Flea assured her Ninon wouldn't mind if they were late. She had her friends with her, after all. Finally, her hair falling in loose waves down her back and wearing her favorite heels, Constance followed Flea outside and into a cab.

The address of the club was in a ritzier part of town than Constance was used to. The club itself was about what she expected: flashing lights, scantily clad patrons; but it all had an air of sophistication that she hadn't experienced before. Drinks here must cost a fortune.

Flea gave their names to the bouncer and they were let in at once. Ninon must have got them on the list somehow. Inside, Flea found Ninon in seconds and made a beeline for her. Constance followed, feeling uncomfortably out of place.

"I'm so glad you could make it," Ninon said over the music. She included Constance in her smile of welcome. Constance smiled back. She liked Ninon. "These are the boys. Boys, say hi!"

She waved a hand behind her and Constance realized that her friends were all guys. "Aramis, Porthos, Athos, and D'Artagnan!" she called, pointing each one out in turn. The first two appeared to be making out behind her. The third was looking on with an amused expression, but the fourth met her eye and smiled at her.

 _Oh_.

They were all really good looking.

"Sit down!" Ninon said. Flea wasted no time and wound up half in Ninon's lap. Constance had to dodge aside as Aramis and Porthos vacated their seats, heading for the dance floor. She wound up sitting next to Athos. D'Artagnan had vanished with an offer to fetch everyone drinks.

She looked over at Athos, wondering if she should start a conversation. He was very handsome, after all. But he wasn't looking at her. All his attention was focused on the dance floor. She followed his gaze and found Aramis and Porthos dancing in a way that was positively indecent.

She looked back at Athos, her brain finally categorizing his expression as _interest_. "Maybe you ought to join them," she said, grinning wickedly at him.

He smirked. "Maybe I should," he said, inclining his head at her. "If you'll excuse me." He got up and went over to the pair on the dance floor. Constance had to look away before Aramis's dancing made her blush. Apparently the three of them were very much together.

She glanced over at Flea and Ninon and found that they were making out. Rolling her eyes, she walked over to the bar, where D'Artagnan was ordering drinks.

"I wouldn't go back over there if I were you," she called, making him jump a bit. He turned, and she nodded pointedly toward the table. He huffed a laugh when he saw Flea and Ninon, and then groaned when he noticed the other three. "I hate going out with couples!" he grumbled good-naturedly.

"I know what you mean," Constance said, slipping into the vacant space beside him at the bar. The music was a little less deafening over here. "I've been dragged along on every one of their dates so far."

"Really?" he asked. "Porthos always says I should come with them, and Aramis pouts of I say no, but they always end up doing this," he pointed at the dancers, "within ten minutes. You know what? No drinks for them! What do you want?"

"Sea breeze," Constance said. He grinned at her and ordered their drinks. She raised an eyebrow at the hefty price, but he waved away her offer to pay.

"It's all on Athos's tab," he confided, smirking. "Don't worry, he can afford it. He and Ninon are like, crazy rich."

Constance had guessed as much already, so she pushed down the slight twinge of guilt and leaned against the bar to enjoy her drink. Somehow, she and D'Artagnan got talking about Marvel movies. D'Artagnan's impassioned argument that there should be a Black Widow movie instead of Ant-Man was interrupted by Aramis, who appeared at his elbow, downed the rest of his drink, and immediately stumbled back to the dancefloor, where Athos and Porthos were carrying on without him.

"Look at them," D'Artagnan said, shaking his head. "It's not fair. I never get to dance with anyone!"

Encouraged by the pleasant conversation (and the vodka) Constance said, "You can dance with me."

His smile was blinding. She followed him onto the dancefloor, unable to keep from smiling herself.

She was really glad she'd worn the black dress.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 - “i came to the gym to work out but holy god i can’t stop watching you do one armed pushups that’s so hot” au
> 
> Tags: Portamis (what else could it be?), background Constagnan

"Aramis, we didn't come to the gym for you to watch the people working out," Constance said sharply. Aramis nodded but didn't look away from the guys lifting weights in front of the long mirror.

"Can you blame me?" he asked, eyeing one guy in particular. His shirt was stretched across his chest. Clothing that tight should be illegal. He noticed Aramis watching in the mirror and winked.

"We're going to be late for my class," Constance said impatiently, grabbing him by the arm. "Come on." She dragged him from the room and down the hall.

"Why did I agree to this?" Aramis asked mournfully, looking back to the weight room. The guy's smile lingered in his mind.

"Because fitness is important."

"I am fit!" he said indignantly. He tugged his arm free and gestured at his slim frame. "Look at me!"

Constance didn't look impressed. "Being skinny isn't the same as being fit," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Now let's go."

"Where are we going again?" he asked, following. It was far too late to mutiny. She would catch him if he ran.

"Spinning class!" she said brightly, turning down another hallway. This gym was huge. He would never be able to find his way out on his own.

"We're going to spin?" he asked doubtfully, picturing a line of people spinning in circles.

She rolled her eyes. "Spinning class is riding a stationary bike," she explained in a long suffering tone.

"That doesn't sound so hard," he scoffed.

"There will be music. It'll be energetic. Here we are." They were outside a glass door. The sign on it said 'Spinning Class with D'Artagnan.' Aramis glanced in doubtfully, noting the rows of stationary bikes.

"There are no guys in there," he said dryly.

"Are you so fragile in your masculinity that you can't take a class with only women?" Constance asked scathingly. He shrugged: she had a point. Being surrounded by women had never bothered him before. "And the instructor is a guy."

He glanced sharply at her as he followed her in. He had a feeling this _instructor_ was the reason Constance was taking the class in the first place.

Sure enough, the young man that came out a few minutes later and told them all to get on their bikes was cute. Actually, he was positively adorable. He made a point of stopping by to say hi to Constance, and she positively beamed at him. Aramis laughed, and she glared when the young man had walked away.

His amusement was forgotten as soon as the class began. Forty five minutes later, he all but fell off the bike, soaked with sweat and gasping for breath.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Constance asked smirking at him. He glared back. "I hate spinning," he groaned, upending his water bottle over his head. It was empty. "I'm never coming back."

"That's nice," Constance said, clearly not listening. The instructor was smiling at her again.

"Oh, just go talk to him," Aramis said, exasperated.

Constance jumped. "No, I shouldn't, we still have more to do," she said uncertainly.

Aramis rolled his eyes. "Just go!" he said, shoving her gently toward the cute young man. "I'll find my own way back."

She smiled at him and headed toward the instructor with a determined expression. He chuckled and left the room, heading back toward the weight room. There was a water fountain there.

Three hallways later, and he was lost. He didn't remember there being a flight of stairs on the way to the spinning room. Crap. He could retrace his steps, but he didn't want to interrupt Constance. She could use a date.  
He decided to just keep walking. Eventually he would find someone who could give him directions.

After a while of wandering the halls, he noticed a room up ahead had a light on. Finally, someone who could tell him how to get out of the labyrinth. He poked his head around the door and froze. His mouth went dry.

The guy who'd winked at him earlier was in there. He seemed to have graduated from weights. He was on the floor doing push-ups.

One-armed push-ups.

Aramis must have made a strangled sound, because the man looked up and saw him in the doorway. His technique never wavered as he pushed himself up into a kneeling position. "Hey there," he said, grinning at Aramis. "Enjoying the show?"

Clearly the man was a shameless flirt. Well, two could play at that game.

"Yes, very much," Aramis purred, giving the man his most charming smile. "It's very impressive. But is that really the best you can do?" He reached up to run a hand through his hair and remembered he was soaked in sweat and looked like a swamp monster.

The man didn't seem to care though. He just laughed, a playful light in his eyes. "First off, I'm Porthos, and no, it ain't."

"Aramis. Show me your best then," Aramis commanded, leaning against the doorframe. He'd been told he had a very appealing lean.

"Come here," Porthos challenged. Aramis grinned and sauntered into the room.

"Where do you want me?" he asked. It was worth it when Porthos swallowed heavily.

"Here," Porthos said, bending over once more as if he were about to do a push-up. He jerked his head at the small of his back. "Go on. Sit down."

Some people might have hesitated, but Aramis was nothing if not direct. Smiling in delight, he sat down. His heart sped up when Porthos began doing push-ups, barely wavering under the added weight.

"This is amazing!" he exclaimed.

Porthos laughed. In one fluid motion, he dropped to the floor and rolled, so Aramis wound up collapsed half on top of him.

"Don't suppose you're looking for a gym buddy?" he asked, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Aramis grinned down at him. "Only if you don't make me do any actual exercise."

"You can be a spectator."

"Deal."


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 - Someone gets sunburn, bonus points for a tricky place that makes sex awkward.
> 
> Tags: OT3

Moving was agony. Breathing was agony. A miniature sun had become trapped beneath his flesh, scalding him in an effort to escape the mortal confines of his body. He would not survive much longer.

"Stop being so dramatic," said Porthos. "I found some aloe lotion. Who wants it first?"

Athos didn't wait for the response. He surged forward, ignoring the pain that gripped his flesh, and tore the bottle from Porthos. "Mine," he snarled, glaring at Aramis, who sank back down on his stomach, looking mutinous.

"That's not fair," he grumbled, trying to find a comfortable spot on the couch. His shoulders and upper back were burned scarlet.

"Who forgot to pack the sunscreen?" Athos snapped, squeezing half the bottle into his hands. He tossed the rest of the lotion to Aramis and smeared the cool concoction across his chest, sighing in relief.

"Who fell asleep in the sun?" Aramis shot back, scrabbling for the bottle.

"Who refused to share his hat?"

"There was an umbrella!"

"You gave away the umbrella!" Athos exclaimed. He'd run out of lotion before he'd even put any on his face, and the burning was already coming back.

"The family next to us had a baby! They needed it!" Aramis snapped, trying to reach over his shoulder to get lotion on his burned upper back. "Are you saying we should have kept it?"

"I'm saying you should have woken me up when you moved it so I didn't get so burned!" Athos growled back. "And next time you should remember the damn sunscreen!"

"I can't do it!" Aramis wailed, flopping back down. Apparently his attempts to spread lotion on the back of his shoulders had failed.

Porthos, who had been watching the argument with mild exasperation, sighed and stepped forward. "Give it to me," he said, snatching the container from Aramis. "I'll do it."

Athos watched him through narrowed eyes as he applied the balm to Aramis's burn. The burning sun hadn't had any discernable effect on him. It was positively unfair.

A more gracious part of Athos's mind admitted that the fact that Porthos now had to deal with both of them in irritable moods was probably a worse punishment than the burns, but he didn't feel like acknowledging reason at the moment. His skin _hurt_.

"Isn't there any more?" Aramis moaned pitifully. Porthos had nearly exhausted the supply of lotion. He was holding the last bit away from Aramis's seeking hand.

"No, there ain't," Porthos said sternly, sliding the last of the jelly-like lotion into Athos's palm. "And the last bit's for Athos, he's burned worse."

Aramis groaned, burying his head against the pillow. Athos took the last of the precious lotion, slathering it onto his face. He reveled at the initial coolness, knowing the relief wouldn't last.

"Can't you at least distract us?" Aramis moaned pitifully, lifting his head to give Porthos a hopeful look.

"With what?" Porthos asked, smirking. They all knew what Aramis's preferred distraction was. And Athos had no doubt that Porthos would indulge him. Perhaps it would be an effective solution.

But Porthos turned away from Aramis, grinning at Athos instead. Athos smirked. It seemed Aramis would be waiting his turn. He relaxed in the chair as Porthos leaned over him, capturing his lips in a burning kiss. Aramis made a small sound of protest but did not attempt to interrupt. No doubt he was watching with rapt attention.

Porthos deepened the kiss, and Athos found he no longer noticed the burning pain crawling across his skin. It was lost in the pleasure.

At least until Porthos's jean-clad leg brushed against the side of his stomach.

Athos hissed and pulled away quickly. His only thought was on getting his singed skin away from the pressure. Porthos sat back, an apologetic look on his face.

"Sorry," he muttered, wincing. "I forgot."

Athos waved the apology away, trying not to feel too disappointed. Aramis, ever the opportunist, pushed himself up on his arms, smirking at them. "I think I feel well enough to engage in some activities," he purred.

Porthos eyed him doubtfully but consented. Athos resigned himself to simply watching as his lovers made out, but Aramis soon made the mistake of attempting to roll over on the couch. The second his shoulders hit the cushions, he let out of stream of curses and pushed Porthos off him.

The big man stared up at them both from the floor, looking annoyed. "Right then," he said, climbing to his feet and striding from the room. Athos and Aramis glared at each other from their respective sanctuaries.

The sound of running water filled their apartment. The glares changed to confusion as Porthos reentered the room.

"Get up," he ordered.

Bemused, Athos obeyed, wincing as the slight motion tugged at his sunburn. Aramis followed a moment later.

'Come with me." Porthos led them from the room. They followed him to the large bathroom. They'd only finished remodeling it a few weeks ago, adding a larger tub. Athos quickly realized their destination.

"A bath will only make it worse," he said. The thought of hot water on hi already agonized skin was the stuff of nightmares.

"A cool bath won't," Porthos replied, looking pleased with himself. He stepped over, turning off the running tap and checking the temperature. "It should be good. In you get."

Aramis offered no objections, stripping down at once. Athos followed suit a moment later. Neither of them were wearing shirts, which made the process easier, but it was still painful. At last, they slipped into the water.

Aramis moaned in pleasure, and Athos had to fight not to do the same thing. The cool water was heavenly.

"Join us?" he asked Porthos, who wasted no time in climbing in. The larger tub fit them all, though there was no room to spare. Athos leaned back against Porthos's chest, letting him dump a handful of blissfully cool water over his head.

He was never getting out of this bath.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 - “I dare you to dive in.” “Pfft, hardly a dare, it’s hotter than hell here!” “Naked.” “...Still not a dare.”
> 
> Tags: OT3, Fleanon

"There's a pool!" Porthos called sounding excited. Aramis darted through the double doors to join him, smiling in delight when he saw the giant swimming pool.

"Race you!" he cried. A sharp tug on his shirt brought him up short.

"No you won't," Athos muttered. "We will not abuse Ninon's hospitality."

"But she said we could use whatever we wanted," Aramis whined. The blue water of the pool seemed to beckon him closer.

"Which we will do," Athos said sternly. "But not until she gets home."

Aramis and Porthos drooped. "Fine," they muttered, following Athos back into the house. He was unusually tense. Ninon was one of his closest friends, and she'd been away for months. The only communication they'd had were weekly emails. Aramis knew Athos was intensely private, and hadn't wanted to discuss certain developments over an impersonal email.

Which meant Ninon didn't know the three of them were together.

She'd called yesterday to tell Athos that she'd be back in the city and to invite the three of them for a visit. Athos had a key, so she told them to come over whenever they wanted, since her flight wouldn't be getting in until late afternoon. Athos had been a ball of nerves all morning. Aramis understood his anxiety, but privately doubted he had anything to worry about. Ninon was dating Flea, after all. It wasn't as if she would disapprove.

"So what are we supposed to do until she gets back?" Porthos asked, flopping onto a couch in the living room Athos had led them to.

"Watch T.V." Athos tossed Porthos a remote and stalked away to fold himself into the room's oversized leather armchair with a book he'd stolen from a nearby shelf. He clearly wasn't in the mood for conversation, so Aramis plopped down beside Porthos with a sigh.

They flipped mindlessly through the channels, settling at last on some action movie from the 90's. Aramis glanced around at Athos once or twice, but he was ignoring them completely. He had an uncanny ability to become so absorbed in a book that Aramis would be willing to be the roof could fall down around him and he wouldn't notice.

Within twenty minutes, the boredom was starting to drive Aramis up the wall. "Do you want to go exploring?" he whispered to Porthos.

"Athos said we shouldn't mess with Ninon's stuff until she gets home," Porthos reminded him.

"We won't touch anything of hers, we'll just look around." Aramis gave Porthos his best puppy eyes. "Please, I'll go crazy if we stay in here another minute."

"Fine," Porthos agreed. "But if we get caught, I'm telling him it was your idea." He went to turn off the T.V., but Aramis shook his head. Athos might notice the lack of sound even in his trance-like state.

Moving quietly, they scooted off the couch and crept from the room, breaking into grins when they finally passed beyond Athos's line of sight without drawing his attention.

"Where to now?" Porthos whispered.

"Let's find the kitchen," Aramis decided. "Maybe she's got something to drink."

Ninon's house was enormous. It took them nearly ten minutes to locate the kitchen. In a drawer in the fridge, Aramis found a couple beers. He tossed one to Porthos and rummaged in the drawers for a bottle opener.

"Thought we weren't going to touch anything?" Porthos asked, smirking as he popped the top off his beer.

"I said we wouldn't touch anything of Ninon's," Aramis reminded him, winking. "These are obviously Flea's."

Porthos laughed and followed him out of the kitchen. Aramis paused in the hall, not sure where to go next. He decided the best place to drink beer was by the pool.

"I could get used to this," he said, relaxing in one of the low lounge chairs by the side of the pool. "Think we'll ever have a place like this?"

Porthos snorted. "Don't start," he warned. "Athos will take you seriously, and one day we'll wake up to find he's bought us a mansion. Nah, we're better off in our apartment."

"A pool would be nice," Aramis said wistfully. He took another sip of his beer.

"Why don't we go back inside?" Porthos asked, wiping a hand across his forehead. The heat was getting unbearable.

Aramis suddenly grinned. A lovely thought had occurred to him. "I dare you to dive in!" he said.

Porthos raised an eyebrow. "That ain't much of a dare, love. It's hotter than hell out here. But Athos said we shouldn't."

Aramis smirked, setting his beer to the side and leaning forward. "…Naked."

Porthos grinned back at him. "Still ain't much of a dare."

"Then you'll have no problem doing it," Aramis said, chuckling. He could see Porthos weighing his options. He never backed down from a dare, but to follow through might annoy Athos.

Finally Porthos grinned. "You're on." He stood and divested himself of his clothing, dropping it in a heap on the chair. Aramis felt his mouth go dry as Porthos sauntered to the edge of the pool, perfect ass on display. He got out of his chair to get a better look as Porthos prepared to dive.

At the last moment Porthos paused. "I dare you to do it too," he said, shamelessly on display.

Aramis's clothing hit the ground in record time. They hit the water together with a splash.

They surfaced, laughing, and found Athos standing at the edge of the pool, staring in stunned disbelief.

"What are you doing?" he growled. "Ninon will be home any minute!"

Aramis looked at Porthos, who gave a tiny nod. In unison, they lunged out of the water and grabbed Athos's legs, pulling him in with them.

 

The scene Ninon walked in on a few minutes later left her in no doubt about the nature of their relationship. She simply grinned wickedly and went back inside, smirking at Athos's wet clothes, sitting in a pile by the side of the pool.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 26 - Just exploring each other’s bodies, smutty or not.
> 
> I really had no idea what to write for this one. Nothing would come to me. Hope this came out okay.
> 
> Tags: OT3

Porthos closed the door quietly behind him. He kicked off his shoes and crept through the house. They weren't in the living room, so he checked the kitchen, and then the bedroom, but still nothing. Frowning, he noticed the door to the deck was ajar.

He padded over to it and glanced out. He could see Aramis lying flat out on his stomach on one of their beat up old lounge chairs. He assumed Athos was in one of the others. Aramis appeared to be asleep.

With utmost care, he slid the door open and stepped out. He could see Athos now, lying on his back with one arm flung over his eyes. Both men were sound asleep.

Porthos crept closer, sitting down on the empty lounge chair between them. It was rare to find them both like this. Aramis was a deep sleeper, and could fall asleep anywhere, but Athos could not often be found asleep outside the relative safety of their bedroom. The novelty of it sparked Porthos's interest. Asleep like this, he could gaze upon his lovers to his heart's content.

Porthos leaned toward Aramis first, resting his elbows on his knees. If either woke up, he'd have an easier time mollifying Aramis, after all. The sunlight filtering through the trees above left entrancing patterns on Aramis's golden skin. Lightly, Porthos reached out, fingers skimming the soft skin. Aramis had a smattering of freckles down the center of his spine. Porthos traced them softly with his fingers, connecting them like constellations across his lover's back.

In the bright afternoon light, he noticed a tiny, puckered scar he'd never seen before, just below Aramis's shoulder blade. It would have been invisible if the sun hadn't cast it in shadow, and when he touched it gently, he could barely feel it. It must have been received many years ago. He made a mental note to ask Aramis what childhood misadventure had left him with it.

Porthos's gaze skimmed downward, and he found himself grinning when he caught sight of the faint bruises that wrapped around Aramis's hips. There were four on each side, tiny smudges against his golden skin. Gently, Porthos fit his fingertips to them, cheeks heating as he remembered just how they'd gotten there. Maybe he'd been a bit too rough.

Well. Aramis certainly hadn't complained. In fact, if memory served, he'd been very vocal about wanting Porthos to go _harder_.

Porthos's fingers curled, brushing against the ticklish skin of Aramis's side, and his lover shifted slightly, making a soft, sleepy noise. Unwilling to be interrupted just yet, Porthos withdrew his hand, turning away only once he was sure Aramis would stay asleep. He swung his legs to the other side of the chair, leaning toward Athos instead.

It wasn't usually this easy. While Aramis loved attention, Athos did not like to be _admired_.

But right now Athos was sound asleep.

He knew he'd have to be more careful if he didn't want Athos to wake. Aramis might sleep through the soft touches, but Athos was a bit more sensitive. Sighing, Porthos resigned himself to look and not touch.

Not that there wasn't more than enough to enjoy in that department. So rarely would Athos allow himself to be 'ogled' that Porthos felt almost as if he were exploring uncharted territory. Usually, if Athos was in this stage of undress, he or Aramis would be too busy attempting to debauch him to properly enjoy the spectacle.

Athos's skin was much lighter than Aramis's, perhaps a result of far too much time spent indoors rather than out like this. He had only a smattering of freckles in comparison to Aramis's galactic map. They were splattered across his chest and shoulders with no rhyme or reason, at odds with the man's meticulous nature. Porthos grinned wryly at the thought. He wouldn't put it past Athos to try and control the distribution of his freckles.

He continued his perusal, raking his gaze appreciatively over the subtle lines that marked Athos's abs. He knew it annoyed Athos to be the least visibly muscular of the three of them, despite the fact that he was actually stronger than Aramis. He quelled the urge to stroke a finger along Athos's stomach, knowing it would only wake the other man up.

His gaze drifted upward, a grin stretching across his face as he caught sight of the dark bruise on Athos's neck, just below his jawline. He wasn't responsible for that one, though he had greatly enjoyed watching Aramis put it there.

A faint itching sensation on the back of his shoulder reminded him that Aramis's fingernails had left marks on him, too. He loved the tiny mementos they left on one another's skin, marks that would proclaim to any who saw that they belonged to each other, and only to each other.

Porthos's thoughts were quickly growing more heated. He was so absorbed in his contemplation that he didn't hear the lounge behind him groan softly as Aramis moved. He wasn't even aware his lover had woken up until Aramis's arms went around his neck from behind, Aramis's chest pressed against his back as he slouched forward against him. He went from warm to melting in a matter of seconds, but didn't push the other man away.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?" Aramis mumbled sleepily, pressing a kiss to Porthos's neck.

"Yeah," Porthos whispered back, tipping his head to give Aramis better access. "Think he'll ever let us tell 'im?"

"Maybe if we tied him to the bed," Aramis chuckled, nipping at Porthos's ear.

They were silent for a long moment.

"That's an idea."

"I'm in if you are," Aramis said, his voice a bit rougher now.

"Not yet," Porthos said quietly. "Let's watch a little longer."

When Aramis nodded, smiling softly, he turned, pulling Aramis around him until the smaller man was half on his lap. There'd be time enough to indulge in fantasies later. Right now, he was content just to look.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 27 - I’m the understudy for your character’s love interest and since he’s not here today you asked me to help you run the kissing scene and I’m really attracted to you
> 
> For some reason I couldn't think of any real plays this could be, so I've just been intentionally vague. Apparently my English major is useless after all! Also I didn't realize I was so late ahh sorry! Had a rough day, tomorrow's may be late too.
> 
> Tags: Constagnan, referenced OT3

"Admiring our lovely heroine? For shame, pup," Aramis quipped, dropping down to sit on the edge of the stage beside D'Artagnan. He glanced down at the pile of playbills waiting to be stapled and clicked his tongue. "I'd better add dereliction of duty to the list of charges."

"Shut up," D'Artagnan muttered, blushing furiously and pulling his attention away from the stage, where Constance was rehearsing alone. It wasn't a full rehearsal day, and by rights he needn't even be here, but he knew Constance had a fitting today. She always came early to practice, and he loved watching her work enough to give up his day off.

Even if it meant stapling programs and enduring Aramis's teasing.

"You should just talk to her," Aramis told him.

"You can't be serious," D'Artagnan muttered. Aramis gave him his best _serious_ expression. "I can't! What would I even say?"

"Hi, I'm D'Artagnan, I think you're talented and clever and beautiful, would you like to get a cup of coffee after rehearsal?" Aramis suggested.

"You're not going to give me a clever pick-up line?" D'Artagnan asked doubtfully.

Aramis chuckled. "Those would never work for you. You're far too innocent. Best stick to the sincere approach, pup."

D'Artagnan scowled at him, shoving the pile of programs Aramis's direction. "If you're just going to sit around giving me useless advice, then at least have to decency to be productive," he snapped.

"Can't," Aramis said loftily, climbing to his feet. "I'm needed backstage. Apparently Porthos is too muscular for his costume, and I've got to let it out. Again." He gave D'Artagnan a wink as he left.

D'Artagnan glared at his back. It was alright for Aramis; he already had Porthos _and_ Athos. And he was sickeningly smug about it too.

"Should I tell Aramis you're practicing your death stare?" Athos drawled, leaning against the edge of the stage. "What did he do to draw your ire this time?"

"Nothing," D'Artagnan mumbled.

His eyes must have darted to Constance, because Athos smirked. "Ah. Should you not be practicing your lines? If anything happens to Jacques, you'll have to perform opposite dear Constance."

"As if I'd ever get that lucky."

"Aramis is right, you know," Athos said gently. "It wouldn't hurt to talk to her."

"I'm just an understudy, Athos," D'Artagnan sighed, shoulders slumping. "What interest would she have in me?"

"Do you think her so shallow?" Athos asked, raising an eyebrow. Before D'Artagnan could answer, Athos smirked and backed away.

D'Artagnan frowned after him. A soft footstep on the stage behind him made him freeze.

"Excuse me, D'Artagnan?" Constance's sweet voice asked. He turned to find her standing a few feet away, holding a script in one hand. "It is D'Artagnan?" He nodded numbly, too tongue-tied to speak. "You're Jacques's understudy, right?" Another nod. "Do you think you could run a few scenes with me? I'm still having trouble with my cues in some of them."

"Sure," he stammered, pushing the playbills to the side and leaping to his feet. "Which scenes?"

"The ones in Act II in the garden?" Constance asked, offering him a script.

"Oh, yeah, sure," he said, waving it away. "It's okay, I know the lines."

For a brief moment, he could've sworn Constance looked impressed. The she nodded, professionalism back in place. "Alright. From the top, then?"

Remembering the blocking of the scene was a little harder, but he managed to find what he hoped was the right x to stand on. Constance began the scene with her customary grace, her voice sweeping out over the empty theater. He wanted to close his eyes and bask in her talent, but a brief lull reminded him that he had lines too. He was not going to embarrass himself in front of her.

He stepped forward, slipping seamlessly into his character. Acting opposite her for the first time was incredible. The dialogue flowed between them with an ease he'd never felt before. He barely noticed the small crowd gathering at the edges of the stage to watch.

Everything was going so perfectly that he didn't immediately process what was happening until Constance stepped closer to him, finishing off the last of her lines. Only then did he remember that the garden scene ended in a kiss.

Constance took another step closer, and he realized she expected him to do it.

Under the combined strength of his panic and excitement, his mind went blank. If he overthought this, he'd never be able to do it. He took the last step to close the distance between them and then he was kissing Constance, and it didn't matter that it was only acting because it was everything he'd hoped it would be.

When he finally pulled back, he realized he'd been kissing her for a little longer than was necessary. His face reddened with mortification when he heard the cheering from their impromptu audience. Aramis was catcalling, a gigantic grin on his face. Even Athos was smirking.

"Sorry," he muttered to Constance. He would never be able to show his face around here again. He would have to flee the city.

"That's quite alright," Constance said, looking as pleased as he felt. Before she could say anything else, Treville had climbed on stage, looking more stressed than usual.

"You, pup, you know your lines?" he barked. "All of them?" D'Artagnan nodded numbly. "Good. You've got the role. Jacques pulled out, the bastard. You two keep practicing, we have to make up for lost time. The rest of you, back to work."

He was gone before D'Artagnan thought to thank him. "Looks like you're my new costar," Constance said, flashing him a sunny smile. "Excellent. I think we have more chemistry than I did with Jacques anyway. I think that scene could still be better, though."

He finally caught on to the mischievous look in her eyes. "Oh, absolutely. We definitely need more practice," he agreed, starting to grin himself. "Shall we take it from the top?"


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 28 - “I thought you were my new roommate’s boyfriend so I casually invited you in but you’re actually the RA of the dorm and now you think I want to have sex with you”
> 
> Tags: Athamis, Porthathos, eventual OT3

Aramis reached blindly for another push pin and swore when it impaled his finger. Briefly startled, he released the poster he was holding and it fell, rolling back up and landing behind his bed.

He groaned and flopped down on the bed, narrowly avoiding the tub of push pins sitting on his pillow. He hated moving to a new place. He especially hated moving early. School wasn't in session yet, but he'd wanted to rack up some credits with a summer course so he could skip a requirement later in the year.

With a sigh, he rolled off the bed and headed toward the door, grateful that his new dorm room had an air conditioner. His new roommate had turned it off when he left for the gym, but the room was already heating up again.

With the A.C. cranked up, Aramis decided to take a break. He glanced over at Porthos's side of the room. They'd texted over the summer once they'd received their roommate assignments, and they got along well, but they'd only met in person this morning. Porthos had said he'd be back after the gym, and Aramis was hoping he'd want to grab dinner together. He had the feeling they could be excellent friends.

It didn't hurt that Porthos was absolutely gorgeous.

Porthos's half looked less like a disaster zone than Aramis's, but he had moved in a few days earlier, and therefore had had more time to unpack. His posters, Aramis noticed, were all neatly stuck on the walls. Over by the door, he'd stuck a corkboard up with command strips. Photos and sketches covered the surface.

Curious, Aramis wandered over to it. Some of the sketches were really quite good. Some of them were of landscapes, but several were of a young man; reading a book, chewing on a pen, glaring directly out of the paper.

Aramis took a deep breath when he saw that one. The guy was easily as attractive as Porthos.

He skimmed over the photos on the board and found a bunch of pictures of what he assumed were Porthos's friends. What he found interesting was that the guy was in almost every one of them. In every picture, Porthos was smiling, but the other guy was almost invariably glaring at the camera. Only in one did he appear to be smiling, and he was looking away from the camera, as if to keep from being caught in the act.

Aramis studied the pictures more carefully, a sinking feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. This must be Porthos's boyfriend.

He sighed heavily, still eyeing the pictures wistfully. Of course it had been too much to hope that his new roommate was both interested in guys _and_ single. Oh well.

He was half under the bed fishing for the lost poster when someone knocked on the door. His head smacked against the bedframe as he withdrew hurriedly. "Porthos?" a voice called, muffled by the wood. "You in?"

Aramis managed to successfully extricate himself from beneath the bed and dashed across the room, tugging the door open.

The boy from Porthos's pictures was standing there, a look of faint surprise on his face.

Aramis prayed to God there weren't any spiders in his hair.

"Um, Porthos went to the gym," he said by way of explanation, assuming the guy was looking for his boyfriend. He felt slightly disappointed. If Porthos's boyfriend was here when he got back, he probably wouldn't want to get dinner with Aramis. "He'll be back soon."

"Ah, you must be Aramis," the guy said, nodding. "I didn't know you were here yet, or I would've introduced myself sooner. I'm Athos, the-"

"Why don't you come in?" Aramis interrupted, stepping to the side to let Athos enter. "I think he'll be back soon."

Athos raised an eyebrow but said, "Alright," and went in, stepping around the boxes Aramis hadn't unpacked yet.

Aramis looked around wildly. Manners dictated that he offer Athos a seat, but Porthos's bed was currently serving as a temporary storage space for unpacked boxes, and there was nowhere left on the floor to put them. Panicking slightly, he began pulling things off his own bed. The tub of tacks wound up on the floor behind the bed. He made a mental note to check for pointy objects before walking around barefoot and turned back to Athos. "Would you like to sit down?"

Athos was staring at him like he'd gone mad. "I think I should go," he said slowly.

"What? No, it's okay!" Aramis said quickly. He so wanted his roommate's boyfriend to like him. He didn't know anyone else yet on this campus. "Unless… oh. If you want me to go so you can be alone with Porthos, I can leave."

"What?" Athos asked, now looking as confused as he felt.

At that moment, the doorknob turned, and Porthos walked in. He stopped in the doorway, looking between them. He probably sensed the tension in the room. "You've met, then?"

"I think there's been a crucial miscommunication," Athos said wryly. "I'm the R.A."

"Oh." Aramis felt his cheeks flush. The room suddenly seemed several degrees hotter.

"What did you think he was?" Porthos asked curiously dropping his bag on his bed.

"Your boyfriend," Aramis muttered, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. He'd fucked everything up.

To his surprise, Porthos laughed. "You ain't wrong," he said, winding his arms around Athos's waist. Athos gave him an annoyed glare. "He's just also the R.A. That's why we have separate rooms."

"I see," Aramis murmured, still feeling horribly humiliated by the whole situation.

Athos took pity on him. "We were hoping you would join us for dinner?"

Aramis seized the olive branch with relief. "Yes, thank you, I'm starving," he said, practically running out the door. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought two pairs of eyes followed him with distinct interest as he led the way to the dining hall.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29 - “You fainted in my arms because of the heat. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”
> 
> Tags: Fleanon, Constagnan, OT3 if you want to see it

"It's hot."

"No shit," Porthos snorted.

"Why's it so hot?" Flea whined, refusing to give up her tirade.

"It's July."  
"That's not a good enough reason." She scowled at the blacktop beneath her feet. The sun was baking it, sending waves of heat washing over her. It was almost unbearable. "Why am I outside?"

"You said you wanted to come to the park with me," Porthos said. He didn't look nearly sympathetic enough to her plight. "It's your own fault that you chose to wear all black."

"I look cool though," she muttered mutinously.

"You could at least take the jacket off," he snorted.

Flea bristled. She'd been on the verge of taking it off herself, since she was literally cooking in it, but now that _he'd_ suggested it…

"I'm fine," she snapped. "Where're the others?"

"Aramis said they're by the fields," Porthos said, stepping off the hot black tar at last and onto the marginally cooler grass. "So they should be somewhere around here."

They tromped across the first field, but didn't find any sign of the others. "They've abandoned us," Flea said despairingly. The heat was making her dizzy.

"They're probably just in the other field," Porthos said, rolling his eyes. "And take that damn jacket off."

"No," she said stubbornly, despite the fact that she felt as if she were in a sauna. "I like it. It's my favorite jacket."

Porthos snorted but did not comment. His expression of unbearable superiority was the reason she didn't warn him about the Frisbee headed directly for his head.

It hit him with a satisfying smack. Flea smirked as he stumbled backwards a step, rubbing his forehead. "What the fuck?" he growled, looking around.

"There's your culprit," Flea said, laughing as she pointed at a shamefaced D'Artagnan, who had just jogged over from somewhere to their right.

"Sorry," he offered weakly.

"Brat," Porthos growled, punching him slightly harder than usual on the arm before handing the Frisbee back. "Where are the others?"

"This way," said D'Artagnan, meekly leading them around a small stand of trees. A couple of picnic blankets had been spread out in the shade on the other side, layered at the edges to form one giant seating area. Aramis and Athos were on their feet, so Flea presumed they had been D'Artagnan's co-conspirators in the Frisbee incident. Constance was on the blanket with a woman Flea had never seen before. She felt her pulse speed up when she caught sight of her. Fuck, she was beautiful. Flea was starting to feel lightheaded. But that might just be the heat.

"Ah, there you are," Athos said, coming over to greet them. "Nice to see you, Flea. This is Ninon, an old friend of mine."

"I'm hardly old, Athos," Ninon said, laughing as she stood up. Flea stared at her smile, transfixed. "But if you mean to say I've known you since you were in diapers, then yes, we are old friends. Flea, right?"

Flea recovered herself enough to shake the proffered hand, trying not to think about how soft Ninon's skin was. It had been far too long since she'd had a date. "Yeah, that's right. Nice to meet you."

" _Enchanté_ ," Ninon said, smiling prettily. Flea was suddenly glad she was wearing her favorite leather jacket, despite the grueling heat. She got the sense Ninon was looking, and liked what she saw.

They all sat down on the blankets, and somehow Flea ended up next to Ninon. Constance had shifted over to sit with D'Artagnan, and they were now making lovey eyes at one another. It was gross. She felt too awkward and sweaty to start a conversation with Ninon, so she kept herself in the loop of the group conversation.

The heat wasn't building much of an appetite in any of them, so the food was still lying untouched when D'Artagnan finally convinced the others to give Frisbee another shot. Flea was too hot to get up, so she stayed where she was as the boys clambered to their feet and ran off. Only when she realized Constance was going to did she start to panic.

She was alone with Ninon.

No, she couldn't do this, she wasn't prepared. Her head was spinning, her stomach hurt, and she was soaked in sweat. She was not currently capable of flirting. She leapt to her feet, intent on going to join the game, heat be damned. The world tilted strangely, and the ground looked a lot closer.

Next thing she knew, Flea was back on the blanket, one of Ninon's arms wrapped carefully around her shoulder. "What just happened?" she asked. Her head still felt unbearably fuzzy.

"You fainted in my arms because of the heat," Ninon said. Her expression was concerned, but she also looked faintly amused. "You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes."

"Please tell me no one else saw," Flea muttered. It was bad enough that Ninon witnessed her shame. She would never live it down if Porthos or Aramis saw too. And Constance would just worry. Better she didn't know.

"No, just me." The amusement was clearer now. Flea turned to glare and realized she wasn't wearing her jacket anymore. She saw it thrown to the side. "Ah, I thought that might be the cause of the problem," Ninon said, looking a bit sheepish. "It's fine, I only pulled it off. Might be a bit crinkled though."

"Oh. Thanks," Flea said, embarrassment coming back full force. "Sorry about this."

"Don't worry about it," Ninon said, giving her a gentle smile. "Here, drink some water. Not all at once, though."

Flea gratefully accepted the drink. She was already starting to feel a bit better. She noticed as she drank that Ninon was still sitting very close to her. "I'm not gonna fall over again," she said, flushing.

Ninon just smiled. "I know," she said. She didn't move away.

It was much easier to talk to her after that.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 30 - Imagine person A is a bounty hunter who hunts demons, vampires, or werewolves and person B is a demon, vampire, or werewolf who is dating person A, but after finding out what A does hides the fact that they’re the kind monster that A hunts down. How will A find out and react?
> 
> Twisted the prompt a bit to suit my needs, but I'm very pleased with how this turned out. The ending is a bit rushed because even with 1.5k I ran out of room.
> 
> Tags: Athamis, OT3

Athos was woken the _Ghostbusters_ theme. A sinking feeling formed in the pit of his stomach. Only one number had that ring tone, and it always meant a tip. He hadn't had one in months. It was only now that he realized he hadn't wanted to get one.

But this was the life he'd chosen. He sat up with a sigh and grabbed the phone, answering before it could go to voicemail. "Athos."

"Got a spook for you." The Captain was nothing if not direct. "Heard it from the Cardinal." Athos sighed. Why the two of them insisted on going by code names he would never understand. "Says they're working at The Trap. We want you to check it out."

Athos swore his heart stopped. "Any incidents?" he asked carefully. Aramis worked at The Trap.

"Yeah, there's been a death. A man, early thirties. His throat was ripped out. Could've been a wolf or a vamp." The Captain's voice was heavy. "You're going to have to put him down, Athos."

"I'll take care of it," Athos said, feeling as if ice were creeping through his body. He hung up the phone, but it only got colder. Frowning, he looked down to find Aramis had rolled over and was now pressed against him, icy skin leeching Athos's warmth.

"Wake up, _mon cher_ ," Athos murmured, poking Aramis's chest. "We have a problem."

Aramis was nearly impossible to wake. He had decided long ago that the myth that vampires didn't need to sleep was bullshit. Mornings were often a battle as Athos attempted to pull Aramis out of bed and Aramis grumbled 'just because the sun doesn't hurt me doesn't mean I like it.' Today, though, he woke at once. The worry in Athos's voice must have penetrated his sleep-fogged brain.

"What is it?" he asked, pushing himself up.

"Got a tip," Athos said, his voice low. Aramis knew what he did for a living. Athos had been staking out The Trap when they met, trying to decide if Aramis was a threat that would need to be neutralized. To his surprise, Aramis had smirked at him and offered to buy him a drink. Athos had accepted against his better judgement and had been staying with Aramis since then. He hadn't had a tip since before they'd met, and part of him had been hoping he'd never get another.

"Oh." Aramis frowned. "You're leaving?" They had both known this was a possibility. He looked resigned to it, but Athos could see the honest hurt he was trying to hide beneath his composure.

"No. The tip is for someone working at The Trap."

Aramis's dark brown eyes widened. "Am I going to need to find a new job?"

"Not unless you're the one that's been killing people," Athos sighed. Aramis didn't bother denying it. They both knew it hadn't been him.

"You think it's Porthos," Aramis said quietly.

"Who else could it be?"

Aramis sank back against the pillows, looking troubled. Athos understood. Porthos was the newest bartender at The Trap. Aramis had told Athos he was a werewolf the day he was hired, but that hadn't stopped either of them from pursuing him. They hadn't managed to convince him to come home with them yet, but not for lack of trying.

"The Captain said he killed someone, Aramis," Athos said softly.

"I just can't believe it." Aramis shook his head. Athos didn't blame him. Porthos was one of the gentlest people Athos had ever met. It was hard to reconcile the handsome, grinning man with a monster capable of murder.

"I'm going to have to do it," Athos said sadly. He didn't want to kill Porthos. He knew Aramis had really been hoping Porthos might want to join him and Aramis in the strange little life they'd made for themselves, and lately Athos had been harboring the same dream. The undead were known to be very open to polyamory.

"I'll help you."

"You don't have to…" Athos protested, looking down at Aramis.

"You humans are far too fragile to be hunting werewolves on your own," Aramis said flippantly.

Athos snorted. Once, that statement would have insulted him. Now it was just proof that Aramis was concerned. "Fine. You can help. We should probably do it after closing tonight. I don't want to give him enough time to kill again." Aramis frowned. "What is it?"

"Shouldn't we give him a chance to explain himself first?" Aramis asked hesitantly. "Perhaps it was an accident, or there's a reasonable explanation."

Athos scowled, old memories making themselves known once again. "Last time I let a spook explain herself, she killed my brother and nearly killed me along with him," he said tersely. "Spooks don't get second chances, Aramis."

"You gave me one," Aramis pointed out.

Athos sighed. "That was different. You hadn't just murdered someone."

"But I'd killed before, and you knew it," Aramis argued. "Why is this different?"  
Athos didn't have a good answer for that. Aramis knew the only reason Athos hadn't killed him was because Athos had been too attracted to him to end his life when there wasn't an immediate reason to. But Athos couldn't take the same chance twice. Porthos had just killed a man: there couldn't be any hesitation.

"We should get ready," he said at last. "We'll need to make a plan, and all my hunting things are down in your storage space. We'll sort through them after breakfast."

Aramis sighed but didn't argue. Athos led the way to the kitchen, squashing his misgivings into the back of his mind.

Late that night, they crept into position in the alley behind the bar. Aramis was sulking because Athos wouldn't let him use the crossbow with the silver tipped bolts, despite the fact that they could burn Aramis just as easily as their target. Aramis's job was to distract the target while Athos pulled the trigger.

He still couldn't quite think of the target as Porthos.

He sank deeper into the shadows behind the dumpster where he was hiding as the door opened. A werewolf's nose was sensitive, but h was downwind, and Aramis's scent would be stronger than a human's anyway. He gripped his crossbow tighter as the target walked toward where Aramis lay in wait.

The plan was simple. As soon as the target reached him, Aramis would step out and engage him in conversation, following the usual flirty pattern he'd already struck up. Athos would creep closer while the target was distracted and put a bolt through his heart. On the off chance that the target realized what was happening, Aramis was strong enough to put up a fight while Athos took him down.

Athos took a deep breath, readying himself. The target had almost reached the agreed marker. Aramis would appear at any moment.

He stopped just before he reached Aramis's hiding place.

"I know you're there," Porthos said, sounding almost amused. "You can come out." To Athos's surprise, Aramis stepped out at once. Athos cursed silently. Aramis was too willing to believe the best of people, even when evidence was presented against them. He was going to let Porthos have his say. And Athos couldn't attack if Aramis wasn't going to fight back. He wouldn't risk Aramis being hurt.

"You too," Porthos called over his shoulder to Athos. Cautiously, Athos stepped out as well. "Look, I know what you do. I do it too. I know you came here tonight to kill me. But that won't be necessary."

"You're a hunter?" Aramis asked curiously. "But you're a werewolf!"

Athos didn't give Porthos time to answer. "Someone was killed," he snarled. He would never let another spook talk him down if they deserved to die.

Aramis met his eye from behind Porthos. He gave Athos a pleading look.

"Yeah, someone died. But I didn't kill them."

"Then who did?" Aramis asked.

"Rogue vamp. I staked him last night, but I was too slow to save the victim." He scowled in self-recrimination.

Athos almost asked where the body was, before he remembered that a staked vamp would disintegrate. "You've got no proof, then," he said, squinting suspiciously at Porthos. "Just your word that the vamp was here, and that you killed it." He lifted his crossbow. He'd have to risk taking a shot.

"Wait, Athos, he's telling the truth!" Aramis said, stepping between them. Athos lowered the crossbow, horrified that he'd pointed it at Aramis for even a second. "I can smell the vamp's ashes."

Athos took a deep breath. The universe was offering him a way out of this terrible situation. He believed Aramis. Porthos was innocent.

"Oh, good," he said, managing to sound calm. "I didn't really want to kill you."

"No?" Porthos asked, grinning.

"I'd much rather have a partner." Aramis was smiling like mad behind Porthos, staring at Athos with adoration.

"Yeah? In what sense?" Porthos asked, looking between them. There was a hungry light in his eyes.

Athos smirked. "Whichever sense you like."


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 31 - fake relationship au
> 
> And it's over! Just in time for me to leave for the beach in a few days :) These were very fun, and I hope all you lovely readers liked reading them as much as I liked writing them! I don't think ComeHither and I are planning any more month long prompt challenges, but we do have a new challenge that will be starting this fall. Can't give any details yet, since I'm not sure I'm meant to be talking about it, but it will be fabulous. 
> 
> Tags: Porthathos, Athamis, referenced Constagnan and Fleanon

"Porthos, what am I going to do?" Athos asked, clutching his phone so tightly he worried he would break it. "Ninon let slip to my mother that I was seeing someone, now she expects me to bring them to lunch tomorrow!"

"Calm down, babe, we'll handle it," Porthos said soothingly. "Can't you just tell her I'm in Australia right now?"

"You don't know my mother," Athos sighed. "She'll think I've made it up, and try to set me up with one of her friend's daughters."

"Why are you going?" Porthos asked. "You don't get on with your parents."

"No, but for some reason I feel guilty if I don't go," Athos explained. "They invite me to lunch once a year, the last of my sense of familial obligation demands that I attend. With a date this year, apparently."

"Why don't you just take Constance?"

"I thought about it, but she's going to the beach with D'Artagnan. Then I thought Flea, but they already know Ninon is with her, which is a huge scandal. Besides, my father would be horrible to either of them, and I don't want to put them through that."

"What you need is a fake date," Porthos said thoughtfully.

"I am not searching Craigslist for a suitable candidate, if that's what you're suggesting."

"Course not. I have some ideas," Porthos said. His voice had taken on that tone it got when he was about to do something devious. "You want someone tough enough to take on your family without getting hurt by the asshole things your dad says, right?"

"Right," Athos said cautiously.

"And you want someone who'll royally piss off your father, yeah?"

"That would be a nice side effect, yes," Athos agreed. He really was getting tired of these family lunches. If it was just his mother, it wouldn't be so bad, but his father was, as Porthos so often put it, a right bastard. He would be more than willing to cut ties, as long as his mother could blame it on his father's actions and not his own.

"Right, I think I got someone," Porthos said, sounding delighted. "Friend of mine. I'll check, but they'll definitely go for it if they ain't busy. Unless you hear otherwise, meet 'em in our favorite café an hour before the lunch so you can sort out all the details." Athos heard a muffled voice through the line. "Oh, shit, babe, I gotta go. I'll call after and see how it went, alright? Love you!"

"Love you too, _mon cher_." Athos sighed as the phone disconnected. He would much rather have Porthos here, even if it would scandalize his family if he brought a man to lunch. But then, being scandalous was rather the point, wasn't it?

He sat down on the bed. It seemed too large without Porthos here. The job in Sydney was only a temporary one, and he'd be back in two weeks, but Athos wished he were here now. He'd even take his father's ire if it meant he could have Porthos with him for this lunch.

Sighing, he rose to get ready for bed. Hopefully, Porthos's friend would come through. He didn't think he could bear another lunch where all his mother did was suggest suitable partners among her friend's single daughters. He'd go mad before the appetizers were cleared.

As he drifted off, it occurred to him that he hadn't asked for the name of Porthos's friend, or even what she looked like.

The next morning found him sitting anxiously in the café, staring intently at every woman who walked in and waiting for one of them to recognize him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a man made eye contact and smiled boldly. Athos looked away quickly. The man was stunning, easily as attractive as Porthos. He had to blink several times to get the image of dark eyes and wild curls out of his vision. His confusion only deepened when the man dropped down beside him and offered his hand.

"I'm Aramis. You must be Athos."

"Yes," Athos said slowly, shaking Aramis's hand. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

Aramis frowned. "You look confused. Porthos told you how this would go, didn't he?"

"Well, yes," Athos said. "But I thought he meant he'd be sending a woman." He winced hoping that didn't sound rude, but Aramis merely laughed.

"He told me you're more interested in men," he said, winking.

"But my family doesn't know that!" Athos growled.

"Look, do you want to piss them off or not?" Aramis asked, leaning back in his chair He was starting to attract looks from the other patrons of the café. Not that Athos could blame them. "I am well versed with conservative families. I can do anything from annoy them to infuriate them. I could probably even get them to disown you. I've done this sort of thing before." The wicked smile he gave Athos made him believe it.

Athos considered the proposal. He did like the idea of his father becoming so furious that he refused to see him ever again. That would really be the ideal solution to his problem.

"Alright," he agreed, committing himself to the idea. "I suppose we should work out our backstory, then."

"I have some ideas." Aramis's grin was devious. Athos allowed himself to be swept up in the planning.

The initial introduction went far better than he ever could have hoped. A vein started pulsing in his father's temple the moment he laid eyes on their clasped hands and he refused to even say hello to Aramis. Aramis took it in his stride. Athos might go so far as to say he was enjoying himself.

Athos's mother was a bit less hostile. She seemed confused for the first ten minutes of lunch, despite the fact that Aramis had pulled his chair so close to Athos's that their legs were pressed together and their arms brushed every time they touched. Even when Aramis relayed the touching story of how they met (they'd decided it should have been at a charity for the homeless, just to further incense Athos's father) she still seemed puzzled by it all.

Athos had already decided to commit to the farce, which meant being far more tactile than he'd ever dreamed possible. Aramis took every opportunity to touch him. When he refilled his wine glass, Aramis went so far as to kiss him on the cheek. The most surprising thing was how little Athos minded it all. In fact, despite the constant fury radiation from his father's side of the table, he was rather enjoying himself.

"And isn't it wonderful, that Athos and I can get married now that it's legal in all the states!" Aramis said cheerfully to his mother.

Her eyes widened in shock, but the explosion came from his father. "Enough! I will not accept this kind of behavior from my son! This ends at once!"

"Or what?" Athos asked coolly. For a moment there, he was almost starting to think his father would just stay silent and deal with it, but no such luck. If this was how it was going to be, then Athos was more than ready for the end to come.

"Or you are no longer my son," his father shouted, ignoring the alarmed looks the other patrons were giving him. There was a triumphant light in his eyes, as if he had just played the trump card and now Athos would meekly fall in line.

Athos stood, Aramis quickly following suit. "Then this is goodbye," he said, relieved that his voice did not shake. It hurt more than he had expected it to, but it was far past time he removed himself from his father's toxic influence. His mother said nothing at all as he swept out of the restaurant with Aramis in tow. He drove them both away from the restaurant, stopping in an empty parking lot.

"I'm sorry," Aramis said in the car.

Athos blinked at him. "For what?"

"Is that what you wanted to happen?" Aramis asked, looking confused.

"I've wanted my father out of my life for a long time," Athos admitted. "I just couldn't bring myself to be the one that cut ties."

"Oh." Aramis nodded, looking slightly less concerned. "I'm still sorry."

Athos's phone chimed. He pulled it out, smiling when he read the new email. "My mother would like to have lunch with us again," he said, his chest tightening with unexpected emotion.

"At least she accepts you," Aramis said, smiling.

"Yeah," Athos said softly. "Thank you for doing this."

Aramis shrugged, flashing that brilliant smile. "Anything for a friend. Perhaps we can all get a drink when Porthos returns."

Athos looked over at him. "We could get a drink now," he suggested. He didn't miss the flicker of interest in Aramis's eyes.

"What about Porthos?" he asked.

Athos smirked. "I think this I exactly what Porthos had in mind."

**Author's Note:**

> You can find us on Tumblr at sirlancelotthebrave or comehitherashes. If you go to my blog and search 'july writing challenge', you can see the list of prompts we'll be using. Leave a comment if you enjoyed this lovely ficlet!


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